What You Can’t Fix

She was always fixing me, stuffing filler in my holes, applying putty or crazy glue to seal off any cracks to be sure nothing got in. She would pace in front of me as if I were a sculpture, looking at me and thinking and then she would release herself, satisfied for the moment that the holes were gone and that I was becoming something beautiful and solid. Still there were holes in my mind she couldn’t fix, holes where the light got in and sometimes snow and rain, holes where my thoughts escaped when they had to. But when she put on her blue satin kimono and hovered near me, I could forgive her. When we made love, it was like hearing the rain beat on the roof, knowing it will not get in.