Author Information
Handscape
As I run a finger
Through the air,
I make wind
Where no one cares.
When I wave a palm
To the sky,
I make a friend
That often replies
With such frightening clarity
That I feel somewhat weakened.
And if this world
Is seventy percent water
And thirty land,
The oxygen then
Must be buried in the sand.
The fractionless air
That catches a stare from my greediest hand
Is trapped in a knuckled embrace
So that I may later stuff my face
When in need of a breath.
Fingered landscapes throughout the wind -
Where I draw my own maps and sing
Of all the things
Existing perpendicular to the ground we're in.
That 0 %
That no one looks at
Seems divisible
By nothing.
But you see, it's really there.
It's just... invisible.
