After I had cut off my hands <br />and grown new ones <br /> <br />something my former hands had longed for <br />came and asked to be rocked. <br /> <br />After my plucked out eyes <br />had withered, and new ones grown <br /> <br />something my former eyes had wept for <br />came asking to be pitied.<br /><br />Denise Levertov<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/intrusion/
