He expands his two hands like the veined, delicate wings of whispering angel wings, and in moments of doom they would finally seize and embrace the one who was already gone! The gentle engraving of the rings of the year, the seal imprint is still moto, on the ribbed veins of the fingertips - there is an abundance of blood vessels, only our words can be accused of lying in the realized flame.
A handy fence, a prison barrier is often the Hand, he is no longer able to discipline his outcast temperaments: He snaps a paternal wave, a slap in the face, a kind nod! He clings to the scorching degree of agonizing passions - like engaged fidelity - with maintained loyalty and morality!
Sometimes the uncertain hesitation still settles on him, but he cannot forget the supplicating consolations of the embracing arms, - the belated confession of Don Quixote:
It keeps getting colder and shaking, and the Hand trembles shakily — when he looks into the other mundane heart-wreath with all-seeing; magnetic, multi-clamp, tar rope: Just one moment is enough; the eternally shining, immortal Heureka-Spark explodes in a bombshell, - the furious volcanic eruption scorches everything, devours everything! The sure grip of immaculate innocence: The Hand!
- Greedy Universe in flame, in the true pearl of our body, the sure refuge, retaining cathedral - Honesty, eternal, glorious Password! You can count on a sure promise who takes an oath by handshake! Because we can know palms of ancient-solitude wilderness can never be eternal!
