Greetings to you my palms, my grasping fingers, and my finger smashed by the car door. My palm X-rayed looks like a sprained wing, like a tiny piece of bone drawn by its own contour. My left hand’s annular finger once decorated by a ring is widowed now, deprived of its adornment. The one who gave me the ring long since has no fingers. His arms are woven with the tree’s roots into one.
  My hands have so often touched the frozen palms of the dead, and
the warm, strong palms of the living. They know how to caress
unusually by touch losing the space that separates existence from
existence, and heaven from earth. My hands knowing the pain of
helplessness cling to each other like two frightened birds, homeless,
blindly seeking everywhere the trace of your hands.

*

the river flows inside me

with infinite patience
I caress the rock
I run my fingers
along its sharp edge
so the rock would soften
humbly
and cling to my lips

the river flows inside me

I wash leaves for the trees
and deceitfully
from under their feet
I eat up the golden sand
so they would move inside me
with their swaying twigs
so they would touch my lips

the river flows inside me

I stretch my hand
over the cat’s back
fur sings
panic grows in the boughs
trees
flutter

*

they said about my eyes: they stare
but my restless eyes
danced on the tips of my fingers
to the sound of a furious unwritten melody
the melody chimed in my ears
which they said simply existed
but they were kneeling and were immersed in listening
with closed eyes

my lips – they said
are not lips
but a hot glowing flame
dashing out sparks of words
the words they were unable to understand

my legs they said – but this is a lie
I am dressed in the gold of the earth
in a shining
silver skirt
made of angel feathers