Hands — a poem
1 min readJul 19, 2019
I held your small, white hands in mine
Two frail birds trembling
Under the shadow of my heat
When suddenly, touched by spirit,
They flew, and I remembered
How vast they were, how strong.
Their caress has travelled lifetimes,
Continents and seas of feeling,
Holding soul to closest soul,
Their current became the one
True vein of existence
Immortal, timeless belonging
When all else was shortened by death.
