Classic Poem

The feel of your hands
Comes like the cold.
On the asphalt road at night,
In disjointed bits of song.

The feel of your hands
Between the teeth of a dog
Clenched on to a scrap of leather.

In your hands
The quivering of yellow leaves;
The sound of glass breaking in the wind,
In your hands.

The fearful blue notes of the ocean
Descend, leaning on your hands,
And roll on to my body.

In the miles of solitude
Fenced in by barbed wires
Just the sound of the wind,
Just the sound of the wind.

In an expanse of blue waters
Through the breathing of serpents
In your hands
Blooms the lotus of deathless sleep

The moonlight glitters
On the barbed wires.