The Wrench
© Suzanne Bosworth

A wrench can never be a gentle thing.
Some power greater than itself takes hold
to clamp or grip, to twist out of the everyday
and change the shape. Maybe there is a loosening:
a leak of shadows, half remembered sound;
a spilling out of grainy film. Time-tightened threads
uncovered and scraped raw in their untightening.

Such changes never are of minor consequence.
Connections forged and tempered in the time-white fire weld fast, their definition locking in each angle.
It is in their undoing that the damage shows. The gap
where one thing was. The space that demonstrates
the perfect balance in the whole, the changing shape
adjusting now to new geometry.