PAUNAWA

We made oars
out of the arms of time.
Perhaps it is tenderness
we’ve been looking for,
not kindness. Perhaps
it is not prayer we need
to say. Perhaps it’s time
to let the hand do what
it does best—press
Itself unto a chest
and push a galaxy into
the other. Minus time
and its arms, minus
god and its hovering—
we are made of each
other. Tellurian,
earthling, boat maker
—row harder!

_________

Listening to Abecedarians: