Hope Brings a Turtle: part two

Hope brings a turtle to the edge of the world
The turtle thinks, I don’t think this is what turtles are meant to do.
The edge of the world is inevitably windy
and the turtle feels the slightest lift on its shell.
It begins to think of other places,
hot and cold
lonely and crowded.
The turtle remembers what it is like to love the structure
of something and to love the painful surface.
It thinks of times its heart and skin have been rubbed
raw and of relief found in warm soft places.
Sunny rocks. Peaceful mud.
Hope is a pin in the soft points of the turtle’s armored body.
Hope is a nagging voice in the turtle’s tiny skull.
In dreams, the turtle, like the rest of us, sometimes flies.
Awake, the turtle moves slowly across highways and through open country.
It wishes for true sleep without dreams of flying or hope’s painful pressure.