Always there has been this reach |
And its limits |
Ringless, jointed, feather-fingered--a hand |
Not meant to be kissed or touched |
Instead it touches |
Fingers curled |
Salve for the broken, sweet-teared, salted cheek |
A living bandage |
Folded neatly, unfolded, folded again |
|
And it appears too often patient |
One can see the patience |
Filed nails, smooth, imperfect |
A cared-for invitation |
Patted and plumped, dusted and swept |
Surely, a god creates a shape as this |
Meant to be cherished---ahh |
Man should love not worship |
A child often does |
But, even more than this |
This hand may know |
The significance of being made for real |
And not for show |
