I’m sorry for the harm I’ve caused.
This is all I can muster.
My wrist didn’t break when I played tennis
Though I can’t play tennis—
More later—my wrist kept intact
While I didn’t play.
Most people don’t know
What’s in a wrist
But as I’m blind
Hearing tennis,
Ovoid snicks like
No other sound on earth
I dream now
Between beheadings
Of the lunate bone
Yes—moon on top
Of the wrist
Hugging ligaments
And the lower arm bones
Mainstay of the carpal
Moon dust
In a perfect ball
That we may hit another
Thus expressing
Our vexation
At being.
Planet of the Blind 