On the site of an old
injury, buried deep
under the closed skin
an itch begins,
an itch
the scratch of which
may yield a poem
or a theorem, or unearth
the seed of a great invention
that will unseat
all our assumptions
and rewind Time.
A small insistent itch
under a patch of newer skin
that doesn’t match—
something inside that wants
to birth, or hatch,
work its way out
from under a healing
that was incomplete.
So it can all begin
again, from scratch.
