Hands

If I could imbue this simple hand

With strength beyond its skin and sinew

If I could halt its trembling and hold it securely

If I could melt the ice that has frozen its motion

Protect it from the pierce of the knife and keep it from bleeding

Then perhaps the all-encompassing weakness it portrays

Would not consume me

My hands have always been small

They've always been weak and ordinary

They've touched with kindness and cruelty

And dabbled in what they shouldn't

They've eavesdropped like a naughty child

And fought away what would save them

They have caressed and torn

Leaving me more bloody in the end than any temporary object of anger

If I could make them forget the winding pathways

The stamp that's marked into the skin

Where they've been, what they've done

What they have yet to be

Perhaps I could erase their haunted identity and let them leave an impression

Far more lasting and strong than before

In a simple embrace, a warm grasp

Lies your salvation

Lies your ruin

Which you will find, you have never known

Often risked, seldom gained

A mystery of infinity

Now gathered tight in a fist at my side