The savior's Hand clutches my heart.
The adversary's Hand clutches my soul.
It is the same Hand.

Yet when I think of It, It becomes Two;
from the wrist, I follow each to its terminus,
finding but one Body.

Love binds conceiver and conceived,
whose polarity conceals a Balance:
the war of the One.

Being is the Conclusion of Thought
that opens up the window of conception
which ends in Body.

Birth begins long before conception;
death shall inevitability follow birth;
between these, vespers.

Seeming parts of dreaming Self
drawing and quartering One Reality.
The Hand is my Own.