We can only recall the freak accidents:

              the lightning bolt hitting the right arm

at a right angle, the bees pouring

              from an overturned truck, the crocodile

that escaped on a lawn, sipping lemonade.

              This is all to say: we did not mean to let

the road break in half. We laid down layers

              of asphalt in the tradition of weavers.

The sun hardened our loom.

              We were led here to break bread

and this is not a metaphor. The dawn
 
              gnawed down around us. Full appetite.

In the early morning, we mistook snow

              for falling specks of paint, a construction

site for an amusement park. We climbed up

              the rafters and were tall. And here we are.

Tall. Our limbs stretched out enough

              to call out our slights, strike by strike.