‘Search’ is a church buzz-word.
The actual action is to ‘walk’ in hope
of stumbling on the miraculous; we patrol
hospital corridors helping patients on
with their prosthetics, in real-life,
or risk running poems in which patients
are assisted with their prosthetics
by their assigned poets.
We may be at war -- Afghanistan or Iraq.
Either way, if God knocks three times
on a door anywhere in the vicinity
of our stories, there will be tumbleweed
wheeling over a well-trodden path somewhere
like those of the chair he couldn’t stand,
which they replaced with a prosthetic leg
as soon as he said he couldn't be satisfied.