Nor hands...

nor hands time's veils below the sun
furrow fountain flush to the cheek
backbeat of ebb and flow and dash and dash
a clearing that none can hear

to step in and stay print hands print words
when what we live is blood the air
the vertical and horizontal elements
the rumor of forest felled at the shore

James Brook | Mudlark No. 18
Tune of Wreckage | The Bridge