The Hand I

Blue sky, green trees,
and I am me inside unseen,
that flame bright and living,
spreading in and through this
living space of thought and breath
and heartlessness, the palm, the
lines that satisfy, the hungry
mind, the butterfly, and all the hopes
and dreams, all mankind's schemes
from low to high    drift in the breeze
as time's scythe cuts the sky,
the trees, and the artist paints
the colours ringing in his fingers,
a blaze of thought and pride 
rising, 
and above our scope, our destiny
that high line lies to reach for
and touch, the colour-rush,
the sigh, the mind's eye thinking
and all our forward roll the scroll
of our ability foreknown and written
outside time by one great hand,
the hand that raised the sky, the trees,
and me.

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