Tag Archives: hands
The fingers, shroud and baffling, in temper and Sphinx, the hands, workmanlike, choreographing majesty in sync with the eyes which saw and praised, in rapture, the inner lives of flowers. (Photo by Alfred Steiglitz) Advertisements
Dawn’s broken promise, an arterial rupturing of light bleeding fevered gold through drawn, dusty blinds, morning, slow to rise, small hands reach out and cannot grasp forever.
Feted, by an angel’s glassy hands, slow-burning river of sound, pooling white fire in rounded furls.
Bathing in prism, beloved praise of warm hands– Grace freely given.
Hands reach, instinctively, because they understand what the mind’s fixed gears are sometimes too tight or slow to grasp: the necessity of shrinking distance through first contact, the dream-life of prayers.
small hands folding paper cranes as grief rises
She, falling through a slipknot cinched by Grief’s hard hands; He, minding gravity, set a course for two, at dawn’s first light.