like a century old turtle shell,
Limbs, ripped off, razor sharp edges
torn like the V shaped screamers who hold on as a
tree is sawed and felled,
screamers at the end of every short branch.
Ripped by the winter gusts of the planet’s biggest inland lake,
for centuries Lake Superior tore barque vessels apart
undeterred by any crew’s tightest rigging.
Impervious, yes, so bloody tight.
Where am I tempted to make myself impervious?
When have mysteries penetrated my defenses to break open my heart?
Surely having an impervious bark is not the dream the Mystery has for me.