Broken Wholeness

What's broken is
never going to be
whole again.
It cannot be mended--
entire pieces
are missing,
and I can't even say
where they've gone,
how big they were,
or what shape.

And even if,
by some
unlikely coincidence,
some strange miracle,
you were handed back
the pieces
that broke away,
they wouldn't fit
together again.
Too much time
has passed--
so much
rough scrubbing
and cold washing--
and the edges
that were once sharp
and clearly defined
have softened,

The broken place
hasn't gone away,
hasn't been
filled with gold.

But it won't
cut your fingers
now; if you
touch that edge,
you won't bleed
The edge is
full of character,
interesting to look at,
pleasant to touch.

And what's broken is
but it is also, now,
after all of this time,