lenten journal: handscape



I’ve been staring at my palms
like they were a writing prompt
or a collection of coded runes

the deep rutted roads that run
like poorly planned highways
across an aging desert of skin

ancient river beds now run dry
from days when dreams roamed
these valleys like dinosaurs

I’ve stared long enough to get
lost in metaphors de manos
and the epidermal esoterica

of a little cellular cosmos
little lines marking mystery
whole worlds in my hands

weathered not wrinkled
fingerprints and fault lines
all they’ve held and let go

I’ve been staring at my palms
and rubbing one on the other
now I will let them rest


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