A broken nail
changes the way a string
moves, the way it sounds.

I change everything about
my attack upon the guitar
to try and make up for it.

I fail perfectly. A new sound, 
a new song comes out of
the ragged touch of the one

I was attempting to play.
I like it better, better 
for now, at least — I may never play it 

this way again, but glory’s happening
tonight. Things happen;
glory comes from them, music

happens. I’m glad for
the broken nail song, the attempted 
redemption psalm, the make-do symphony,

for it’s there, in the silence between
the changed, strange notes,
that hope rings out.