Gently Cupped Hand
When flowers fall down from heaven
floating toward tumultuous land
I know not where fragility ends
as I’m caught in gently cupped hand.
Vapors exhume in darkness
but vapor of breath am I
Weapons circle sharp around me–
foreign child fallen from sky.
Living among others embattled
Born to laugh and to cry
Fighting, bleeding, breathing–
a battling until I die.
The heart drums a distinct pattern
The breaths, a measured rate
The rhythm, set by the leader
The song, that of my own fate.
The days, harmonic melody
of movements and stanzas of rest
Chords of truth strum the soul deep
‘til I reach my lifelong quest.
Heart breaks from cacaphony
and weeps in hostile land —
but hopes in songs of cloud maker
and is healed in gently cupped hand.