with uneven places—smears, blots, and gaps.
Single pieces, too, can have dents
and dings, every form of aesthetic lapse;
much like the human body itself, shaped
by environment and internal
weather, as much as by design; tied and taped,
held together through fogged and infernal
wanderings by hope: that we'll someday cross
into a piece where all shows right and clean—
even us, even those things we've made of loss—
where we can see what imperfections mean.
Today, discouraged by shamble and scar,
we strive to keep on striving, to love where we are.
[Leslie Schultz, 'The Work: A Rusty Valentine', from Concertina: Poems]
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