Once a man loved his family so much
he let his hand fall heavy on their hearts,
close fast on their minds,
swing over their dreams.
His hands loomed like clouds,
floating over them all.
His children looked for his hands
around every corner,
on every stranger’s wrist.
As they grew, their father’s hands grew larger,
his love wrapped tight around their breath.
They recognized his hands on others,
others who they loved and wed.
But they left their own prints
on their own children,
keeping their father’s heavy hands
for themselves.
From The Insect Diviner
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