Thoughts Have Hands

Tree limbs sunbathe

Naked in spring air,

Branches fondle the breeze, 

Leaves pursue warm rays.

Wind tickles leaves —

A mother’s finger 

Underneath young chins,

Caresses tender skin, 

Wipes away dust and dew,

Lifts little eager faces,

Sends them to play.

Spring’s growing season 

Incarnates impermanence 

Repeated with stubborn risk.

All invitations confirmed,

Earth, water and fire

Host seasonal flow,

Join love’s recursive dance.

And the fond wish of reason,

Begs a liturgy for permanence, 

To deal with imminent loss,

And pangs of chance.

But given spring’s haste,

And no promise of future tense,

Now

Smiles from the tree,

Trades oxygen with air,

Swings with delight, 

Leaps the edge of time,

Chases the sun, 

No hint of waste, 

Bets it all

On the strength of green ….

No fear of fall.

THH

5/8/26

This entry was posted on May 9, 2026 at 6:16 pm and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.