In Your Hands

 

 

 

In your hands

I AM

cupped,

a temporary prayer

a sweet slice

of merging space

I AM

dappled dusk

a glance of playful light

falling

shadowed by grace

through velvet felted umber.

18 thoughts on “In Your Hands”

  1. though we are never ever quite finished, with our words…. our poetry livs on on the wings of a butterfly. So that butterfly is the living continuation of your poem, and when it dies that will mark the end of its life but your petry will live on in its spirit.

    Moral of the dribble: we are never finished, we merely pause adn let nature continue for us. Keep spewing the greatness lovin it.

    Like

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