Epiphora

Of second, third, fourth chances.
To learn about the boy who came back
as if from the dead, climbed out of the car
wreck and lived to be nearly a hundred;
and the girl raked over by wave
after wave who came back to build
that house made of sticks on the rocks.
Something about the bird that dropped
its feathers so it could remember
what it's like to be naked in the mouth
of the world—Sometimes it mouthed
the shape of what sounded like love
or a kiss or a call. Even if it didn't,
we had to forgive it for confusing
salt for sugar, for what dissolves easily
in foam.  We stood without moving, 
or learned to stop running away.