An Elbow at a Loss

It's the acute humerus ulna
not so funny hands resting
on not so many chins.

Dim awareness lights
on the slight chance
that hope has a horizon
and the dawn is about
to do a de darkening.

How many bones
could these stones break?

How many sticks
could bend a body this low
this no more?

This glowering
furtive entrapment
fills long words
with short wills.