The Pruned Tree by Howard Moss

Not easy to see here, but Howard Moss’s words have brought me comfort when I needed them. As a torn paper might seal up its side, Or a streak of water stitch itself to silk And disappear, my wound has been my healing, And I am made more beautiful by losses. See the flat water in the distance nodding Approval, the light that fell in love with statues, Seeing me alive, turns its motion toward me. Shorn, I rejoice in what was taken from me. What can the moonlight do with my new shape But...