Something has troubled my restless soul
Sit, I tell it. Be still, be quiet.
Rustle and they will only poke at you.
Something came this way.
What to soothe the gaping spaces?
How to mend when eyes do what they are meant to do.
See what is shown.
Ears that listen to what is spoken.
Wound upon wound, graft upon scar.
Salt of the finest grain.
When you know better, they say, you do better.
But don’t rustle the leaves, they will not offer you cake.
This Life, Redacted 
Transforming pain and injury into metaphors that resonate beauty, insight and healing, this is art.
Thank you Susan.