Monday, July 11, 2011


dirt has found its way
into the creases of my skin.
it doesn't seem to matter
how much i scour the surface
or treat them tenderly,
my hands have aged one hundred years-
losing their agility,
their softness,
and their purpose.

they're filthy and forlorn,
bruises coloring my palms-
forcing my fingers into fists
to keep from reaching out for you.
and i've buried my heart
deep into the soil
so the pleading is muffled,
and it can sleep where it remembers you best.


  1. i feel the yearning in this...and the beauty of being in and of the earth. not just with your physical heart, but with your desire.