Undone Hands

Run a sacred stillness,
generations waiting for
the hardest darkness,
where hearts are blue and wild,
sands grain apart
our lives
Suns torn with
bodies echoing walls
echoing mouths,
the ancients are reddened oceans,
their guarded bones
weak with edges of
their own madness.
To open the unruly
wide and tender
will surely break
the sky.
Soft open maps
defend our investments,
define our veins,
where the ocean sees our eyes.
Can’t say one and shines.
Can’t say one and open hands.
And this is rushing disobediently,
the way the ancients look through suns
as if to stitch with untamed sense,
ceasing softness,
our undone seams.