by Stephan Mead
These hands have shell shapes & when
Held up form an arch. Put fingertips
Together & from the palms open out.
The flesh could be alabaster or brown
& good wood. The tips could be a
Steeple & the looking through, glass
It is something of the religious, something
Of the spirit. Find a horizon’s sun, two
Living trees nearly leafless &, over tilled
Earth, their spreading shadows…
Friend, find all around purple & then
Magenta pulpit curves….
Friend, find what I give you, the body
You gave back, the body & its pleasures
Charting golden fields.