Handful
Like
scooping water by the handful
out of a lake,
you write a poem,
contain it, gaze
into the small
cup of your hand.
While you admire
what feels cold and impossibly
clear, unlike anything
you've ever held before,
you still did not get it.
Into the momentary displacement
left by the dipping of your hand
flows more.
--Cathy
Song
Copyright © 1998 by Free Lunch Arts Alliance
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