I take my burden cleansed fresh in the stream
I clothe the body in a scented cloth
I hide the stench and scars upon the flesh.

Beneath the gloves lay broken dirty nails
The fingertips now purple, curved tight.

Face brown and yellow, bruised about the side.
Cuts and scratches. Fresh and old. Crevice. Cracks.

To hide the damage I can bare one eye.
I can show no further skin or remenant.

To look at scars is seeing creation.