harsh a poets hands to write such anger,
how soft to feel such love,
the fingertips flow and move
assist the mind above.
the palms tender and smooth,
the bones bitter and tough
lift the hand up to the tongue,
the taste of ink and sweat.
rest a moment weary hands,
let the feelings set.
tools in such a weary work
needed just as much,
thank you hands for moving so,
create nothing from the dust.