Both these hands can
no longer keep,
Ribbons shove them
downward
And so do other
hands,
What are they now?
Are they still
hands?
That
really depends,
You say to me,
As if you know
anything
About being free,
As if you know what
it’s like
To hold onto
anything,
As if you know
What it feels like
to keep,
Or to be kept
Yet, under the drunk
moon
You still wept
Like an infant
without a womb
Or a plant without
A root
Expecting me to keep
Your foot,
Keep your foot
Underneath the
bearded sunlight
As if you had been
told
That I am the keeper
of
Things,
That I love moving
my fingers through them;
Hair, overgrown
grass, flowing water
And the fingers
Of the occasional
Mystery,
Yet some of them
were heavier
Than the chins of
the Gods
Or the carriage of
the moon,
Love, the only thing
I can keep
Now;
Fragile as a skull-leaf
Is myself
© Raeez Jacobs. Copyright 2012. All Rights Reserved.
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