The sound of one hand clapping

is the view of one lamb gazing

through falling blossoms, no clock ticking...

 

Because you are always warm

my hands are cool over your skin.

Such clouds moved to glide shadows

pastoral across your curving hillside,

let fingers so devoted sink in

apropos of pressing need.

One finger may tap a tattoo to entertain,

one soothe and steal away sorrows.

Yes, you rest in safe hands

sworn to preserve our gentle idyll.

Jealously they hold the future

ever closer to my heart.

While you sleep and wake as you will

for my palms a wild-flower pasture,

these same palms which can only push

impress with lightness,

their soul motive the wish-

peacefulness gain the meadow.

 

You are surely a silkie seal

and will steal me away to my fate,

and I will clasp tight to my side my treasure and pride

as we overcome hurdle and gate.

The sky and the wing, wave and the fin,

move and murmer together,

a lamb may safely graze, a flitting blossom haze,

oh unto smooth inclines forever.