With these borrowed
hands, I preen and I prod, poking
this vessel,
taking exploratory measure-
ments
only I can comfortably make.
They do not fit-
together.
Fingers, tendrils, palms,
veins; grasping, touching
or holding.
Yet I know I need them
as is.
This is why I collect the seashells
at the shoreline,
we may never fit in
as beautifully
as when we are ejected
from the abyss
we thought we knew
as Home.
Painting by John Morgan (1823-1885), 'A girl with a seashell' in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
