blind,
we ask to been seen
as magma melts to
clay
and these
sculpted hands shape
creases of rivers
and the spurs of mountains, they
make of chalk and sand
islands
we weave them into chains
pushing, kneading
we are all priests
praying with our pain
feel nothing
but the absence of his
gaze.
2 Comments
rainandsonder
crazy good, as always! small thing, though; in the second line it says "we ask to been seen", which i think is a typo.
Anha
your poetry is immaculate perfection; never stop writing.