Gently Cupped Hand



When flowers fall down from heaven

floating toward tumultuous land

I know not where fragility ends

as I’m caught in gently cupped hand.


Vapors exhume in darkness

but vapor of breath am I

Weapons circle sharp around me–

foreign child fallen from sky.


Living among others embattled

Born to laugh and to cry

Fighting, bleeding, breathing–

a battling until I die.


The heart drums a distinct pattern

The breaths, a measured rate

The rhythm, set by the leader

The song, that of my own fate.


The days, harmonic melody

of movements and stanzas of rest

Chords of truth strum the soul deep

‘til I reach my lifelong quest.


Heart breaks from cacaphony

and weeps in hostile land —

but hopes in songs of cloud maker

and is healed in gently cupped hand.