Sometimes the Hands of Children
Sometimes the Hands of Children.
Sometimes the hands of children -
Clutching after smiles, so clumsy,
Shyly shielding eyes, new eyes,
Parting curtains, watching
- Have made me seem the stranger.
Sometimes these hands with laughter -
Mounting through the limbs they lathe
- Will map the bone's, deep bone's
Volcanic contours which
In red flesh-darkness they alone can read.
Always the hands of children,
Grown old quickly
Threaten, calmly now, that curled
Convulsive grasping of
Five furrows of the arid earth;
Threaten, tamely now, that splayed
Spreadeagled framing of
Four segments of the headlong sky.