soundofmanywaters

Lifelines I remember when I could still see The lifelines in my unhardened hands. Now they’re lost in a maze of wrinkles. Is it the tools I have gripped, trying  To tend the worn and broken? The scribbling of a thousand pencils As I pursue that elusive masterpiece? The weary worrying at keyboards? Is it snowdrops planted, roses pruned, Compost shifted and spread? Guys who nurture gardens Can’t be all bad, surely? I hope some of it is fingers pressed to strings,  Stirring sweet chords to life… I hope Little of it is fists formed for fear or fight. But at my best I wish this net of wrinkles, Drawn through the trickling stream of diminishing days, Holds in its mesh caresses, tears wiped, Comfort for the lost and lonely, Even, sometimes, the hungry fed? My kids embraced and knowing they are loved… Then I could feel that, in the slow Withering away of my palms, they might At least have grasped something. Migraine A diamond rattler coils around my sight A rainbow chainsaw rasping th...