Repair

All you whose lives I have crashed into–
or who’ve crashed into mine–
and then staggered away into the stream of the passing time,
this is to let you know that I have not given up
trying to fix everything.
Though we are of such obscure and dark machinery,
so easily broken, countless times and in countless ways,
I can’t help but insist:
all the pieces must still be present somewhere,
even if dispersed as far as the stars.
To persist in being:
to take up with daily care a consciousness
capable of filling space, of finding and holding
present the farthest fragments of our scattered
selves—we could not be made more perfect.