There’s no way you can see all six at once.
Even walking around them, they’re too much again.
Today, as always, I fasten on just one.
I imitate his gesture as I write,
suggest you do the same now, reading this.
My palms are open to the wind passing,
the same wind passing as passed over him
when he was spared: open you hands.
This moment we share, opening our hands
is the instant they tell him he will die
and then, the next instant, he will be spared.
No one can pass this fast from death to life.
It’s too much for the mind to comprehend.
Only the body can get a hold of this.:
look at your hands. You and I speak with him.
The day has come to settle in your palms.
It makes you cup your lifelines, doesn’t it?
as if the wind didn’t come to drink there—