…
There’s a crack straight down
the center, a dividing rod
between two ventricles,
a boundary line formed
of scars and salt.
In this cold,
carved canyon
she collects fragments:
hope severed too soon,
a fractured moon,
and other things aching
to be whole.
…
Written for Poetic Asides, Day 16.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
I feel the ache in/of each boundary line and fragment of this poem. How evocative of inner and outer canyons. I am not a rock.
Quite an image–hope severed too soon really stuck with me