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Inside, the palm and fingers,
remain young to mock the blotted
asters of the back of the hand

the young are much alike we
separate into selves;
the young know each other.

Reveron, after diagnosis,
made dolls for which he made
birdhouses and birds

the threshold is horizontal
the pillar vertical
and there a world intersects

I know such people, across
their palms lines deepen

*

you will catch them

staring, horrified, into it,
the cup of self before them
a universe engaged and silent;

or consider a hand
like a mirror is nothing in
itself, neither adds nor subtracts

from the self reflected.
He made dolls for which
he made beds and clothes

and books and groceries
and love of a sort, miniature
love and hats and gloves

with fingers. Breakable but

not divisible. Fingers removable
from the hand, the glove.

A rule of thumb, save
someone daily, self
included. Cheerfully.

Copyright © 2009 Bin Ramke All rights reserved
from Columbia Poetry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission