The Hand that Admits to Fairly Mediocre Magic

The hand reaches but its atoms

Never touch the atoms of your cheek

Simplicity yea even to imagine

Touching well at least the hand is there

The hand above thinning

Hair violated by April storm-wind

The hand offering its empty palm to racket

Trees make among trees

Deep in a pocket the hand

Is drunk with solitude

The solitary hand learns to sidle past

All come hithers all come closers

The hand without a body

The hand without a name

Who can tell the sweetly dour

History of the spellbound hand?

The hand moves then at once

Pretends to be blind

The hand dances and pulls up

Short maneuvers loiters and feints

Evening has made the hand

Wise and brotherly

Why was it made to write—the hand

Resting on the marble breast of silence?

If not the hand whose then

Was that lunar howl?

The hand dreamed you on balconies

Above a desert whispering mute tornadoes

O friend look! the hand extends

The winning raffle the ace of hearts

The hand offers the last

Landlocked sea

The hand reaches but fails to touch you

Even to perceive you who equal ancient oceans

The hand weighs anchor each night

Setting sail for the vast shadows of your heart