At night, in bed, I close my eyes, and breathe:
one, two, inhale and hold, three, four, exhale.
I open eyes to darkness when
I fail.
I want to calm my mind; I want to sleep.
My eyes adjust and I can see my hand.
My hand, a wonder in itself:
closed
or open: magnificence
in repose.
I ask who made this hand that I command?
My thoughts shift, I’m made aware of the air
growing still around me; contracting my breath,
I shrink as the darkness shadows my stare
and all the universe rests on my chest.
In my canoe I trail my hand in the river.
I have seen the surface and felt the depth.
I touch fingers to palm and I shiver
With fear, close my eyes, and begin my breath.
What else can you do the moment you see
You are finite before infinity?
