My attempts to fix things
never went well, and so
I prefer the unbroken,
those things which allow themselves
to be perceived as unbroken,
that is, for of course nothing is
whole and entire, our attention alone
making things partial, imperfect
in their failure to do and be
more than they do and are.
I haven’t even been able to fix
my impulse to fix things, to identify
things as needing fixing, to claim
knowledge of what would constitute a fix.