As If Engine
A wrench turns
in the turbine of dreams,
removing gears at will.
And yet,
ignition flares up
with an odd rumble,
steady as deceit.
Strange how hearts,
like engines with their parts
scattered, piston-shattered,
still beat a ragged tempo.
Cracked valves, springs awry,
each thump a miracle
in the machine shop
of our rib cages.