On Inching Back

 

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 out

in sighs and silences

And I am

all ears now. And thumbs still really.

But You are working with all I’ve got

For now.

Thank You.

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