Staring down into this vat of steel,
a cold, barren pit is eager to be reawakened.
Hands are held steadily with fingers extended,
bracing to be stripped of life and made anew.
A blank canvas appears in motion as the rhythm resumes.
Beads sewn together fill this chamber,
pooling the world collected beneath the nails compounded with memory.
Hands now raised unveil a glistening sight,
the cinders of antiseptic bathing in the will of water
and flickering against the light.
Though mechanical in nature, this rhythm reveals an organic truth:
the resolve of a healer to emerge unencumbered by the world
before another’s skin is broken into.