our sensitive hands are so very responsive to changes

Hotplate Hands

I'm waiting for you to find me
I'm counting, hear my catchcry,
Hear me calling out your name.
I could have called another,
But it's you I'm waiting for.

I'm holding the bus for you,
Superman lifting it on my shoulders,
But I need the x-ray vision
To see right through you,
Penetrate your layers.

I'm covering up for you,
Doing a Keiko clean,
A ten-times over
Sweeping the carpet til the threads come undone,
Pushing so hard the bristles fall out.

I'm considering your request,
Putting it on the scales
Filtering the grains of sand
So numerous in this space
But no conclusion is reached.

I'm holding the hands of the clock together,
Defying the forces pushing
To disintegrate the moonlight I hold
I must let go, for my digits are numb,
And I am unable to feel

Poetry by Caila Ihle
Read 944 times
Written on 2007-01-09 at 06:50

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