Kaph

by David Harrity

What do I know about offering? I have nothing to give you but these

weary words, the deep hollow of my hands, my palms’

empty faces. I believe. I believe in what it means to be apart—

I believe in the weight of my own weaknesses. I want

you to know that I will learn how to find you, that I am

learning how to gather your symbols together,

all the pieces of you that have been scattered.

My palms wait to be filled of you,

to pull you from earth’s black soil.

You are every word I want to know.

Ask me to offer my palms

pressed together as a gift

so that I might move

into you. My hands

will open like wings

beginning to pump:

again and

again I

believe.

(this poem was originally published here in Ruminate Magazine. Used with author's permission)