a bag of sand
a dead man's hand
withered but alive on the fractured land

what's a hand to do
without the arm its due
or the muscle and the bone from which the hand took cue

hand wanders the plains
hoping somehand deigns
to interlock its fingers and alleviate his pains

hand curls into fist
weak without its wrist
shaking for the company which it has sorely missed

then fist unspools to wave
for across the sandy grave
another hand is looking for the warmth of hands they crave

one hand makes a sign
then fingers intertwine
if these hands keep holding their bruised knuckles shall be fine