I have been cut open, butterflied
 twice, like a shrimp,
  neck to navel

under fake florescent lighting, blank
 anesthesia bliss. I swear
  I woke up

for a split second. Machines crowded
 me breathed for me lived
  for me. People don’t believe me

but I swear it happened and I wasn’t
 scared. Not in the least.
  People always ask me how

you lost your leg. I don’t know,
 she’s a shelter dog. People marvel how
  you run

not walk, but run, and I say
 of course. You are missing a leg
  just as I am missing

a heart chamber. Completeness
 is a composite. The preciseness
  of yes, the roundness of no