From Your Hands
From your hands, a new sun rises full pink,
then swathes golden thread in a gauffering
of sky. Round, blue-gray clouds breathe on the brink
of endless light, this cradled offering.
Your hands, strong, weathered works of ancient art,
both palms cupped, a church holding its people,
radiate, soulful beating of a heart
within, life aglow, stained-glass to steeple.
Your hands, beginning, chisel earthy curves,
reds of Sedona to Alaskan blues.
Brushed in dew, one fingertip swirls and swerves
after storms, creating dawn’s promised hues.
Birthed on a horizon of moon-edged ink,
from your hands, a new sun rises full pink.
Written 5/14/22
for: Orphan Sonnet Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
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