Galvanized 

In the mown field, a broken turtle – 

plastron, carapace, scutes – 

a casualty of the harvest. 

I bend and gather 

make ever wider circles 

plucking bone from chaff. 

Back home, atop a metal box 

labeled HIGH VOLTAGE! 

I reassemble my creature. 

I pray that a spark may come 

a life may be reborn, a slow 

steady thing, hungry, mad.