It was when I saw his hands;
the run on lines
that wove together
making out sheet music; a song that
had already slipped my mind
since morning left:

distressed in every way,
not crushed
perplexed, no despair
mistreated, not forsaken;
not destroyed.

It was when I saw his hands;

My flesh burrowed between
that song and
I saw 
those were my hands too;

I kept singing 
the callouses on his thumbs
that had drawn my eyes

in the first place.
I had begun to know more of him
than the glass pipe 
breathing white rock
he called his security blanket





1 comment

  • Beautiful !! So proud you have this up and going ! You write straight from the heart ❤️ This will go far !

    L Barnhill

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