When Wounds Heal

Do you recall? you asked pointing to the scar
on your knee. The moment flashes back:

First out of the boat,
the view distracted me-

a green sea of shrubs and grass mixing with blue
of mountains while ocean waves break up

into white foam
stumbling on the beach.

I hear people raise their voices:
Turning around I see-

you, fallen on the pier,
lost your balance

when the boat moved and all your weight
was carried by your knee, now bloodied.

Yes, I recall.

You didn't cry nor wince. Your eyes were drained
of tears long before by countless wounds

from tripping over unsteady hearts.
It doesn't feel anything, you noted.

Something else dies when wounds heal,
I sighed.