Hands

Hands

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You stand
Like great mourning hands
Outstretched to the heavens
Beneath, and further down
You long to climb
And climb you have
But burdened so that fingers cross
‘Til blind with breath
They point in scattered rays
Each creaking knob
A joint of ages
Leans forth in restless love
From hallowed dirt and serpent’s tongue
To grace the face of God

-Herf Yamaya©

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