There is some magnitude in arms
to hold a child unharmed and warm,
to tightly prize the evidence of future.
There is some altitude in pride
where plodding senses start to stride
and broken hearts are almost free of sutures.

There is some room for errors and
a place to grow, a ground to stand,
to incubate most shunnable temptations.
Words up to scratch and tantalized,
they sip the sky as thirsty eyes,
engulf no lies, a cinch of revelation.

There is some depth a foot can’t reach
and mind – avert, the sunshine – bleach,
reincarnate ineffably the stillness
before heartbeats become a loot,
ahead of cutting wistful roots,
in dying time for butterflies of shrillness.

For what it meant to stay behind
I keep it up and deep in mind,
the everlasting state where hopes can linger.
There is some light on windful hands,
on dribbling time in grains of sand
through the galactic openings 'tween fingers.

2 May, 2012