7/14/2009

Metacarpus

My hands are changing, the skin
transparent over veins. More mortal,
less invincible. But these are maps,
my hands, to where I've been, to where
I'm going, how to pray, what to hold.
Like fraternal twins, identical yet
different. During the day, they do
their chores; in the evening, so quiet
and cradle the soul.

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