May 31, 2009

With these hands,
I hold mountains,
rocky crags,
and their un-summited climbs.

With these hands,
I hold oceans,
deep trenches,
and their soundless abysses.

With these hands,
I hold space,
its airy tentacles,
and their bushels of jittery stars.

With these hands
I try to hold three words,
but they spill out from my fingers;
they scatter at my feet;
they roll, frictionless,
across the glass table of conversation.