Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Psalm 91

Here, ah! the soft hands of home, my back
held by the chair-back, sitting on sitting
man-like legs standing on flat wooden hands
held out together, a valley of palms.

Finally,
calm. Finally held! not

flung, my mind whirs, soul sleeps,
will wills thin fingers through a shell of smooth
impermeable fear. I am warm here,
warm and true, and open, and white.