I do not know how to open my palms. Wide enough
I manhandle the gift. Fumble and finger with all thumbs.
At least I’m seeing clearer. Now. I think.
At least I believe You will my good. Again.
I see where the translation erred, where words were misplaced.
Where I read between the lines You drew. My words to You slip outin sighs and silences
And I am
all ears now. And thumbs still really.
But You are working with all I’ve got