One Hand
an obstruction of sky’s face
another obstacle for wind’s arms-
what do these arms require?
and where does exhaustion strike
when theft becomes a labor of love?
can its effect be greater than She?
than That Hand’s words?
what She says, how She says it,
how His Eyes accept, reject it-
ignore it.
His Eyes watch Her Hands drop the bucket as
fingers feel the hole beneath its contents leaking
a trail of things She fails to trust. a
trail that falls like rain into open mouths which
all together speak
"what's the difference of today,
and How Can I be worth it?"