Perhaps we are all translated, transformed in
our travels, turned in our journeys, changed
in our exchanges every day. But I am broken.
A single synapse moved and settled
in a
different quadrant of
my brain.
An
artery never
reached my
left
hand.
Memories
rewired or
gone. I
am
altered. No one will
know. No one will notice.
Not even I will see
my losses. I am
full of light, full
of space as empty
and
celestial
as
the space I
traveled.
It is the
wild and
wise way
of progress
in this moment
pulled
together
after being
pulled apart.
A patchwork person stitched with science put forth on a
teleporter—leaving lightyears littered with precious pieces.
A specimen of success destroyed by destiny, destination.
Broken. Rent. I return here and now—only somewhat whole.
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