A Shadow Play

I see the shadows playing on the water zone
as by the fingered waterside I go alone
where the running hands of days are walking low
on fingers moment, instant, slow.

I see the stars are cradling on the water cold
where the fisted river locks its hands to hold
kilowatts that keep the numbers safe from harm
and frees them from their dark alarm.

The dam that’s on the river keeps the night away
two hands I rub together keep the world at bay
and fusing with attainment I would have them say,
“this is the day that hope is like a shadow play.

This is is the day that hope is like a shadow play.”

It was a nothing nihilated by the womb
that held me from that blind first spinning light too soon.
I rose to meet the colors of the day away

and could not keep the monsters there at bay,
those spinning horrors would not put their hands away.

My fingered eyes with which to apprehend the night
are pupiled hands that feel with their external might

the fingered crevice of the world to find what’s right
again to hold to that first spinning light.

My senses bind me to the living world (like rain
that’s many-fingered on the hands of sky) but then
I would that I would find the will within again
to keep my eyes wide open to the world and then
undo all that has been.

The dam that’s on the river keeps the night away
two hands could (rubbed together) keep the world at bay
and fusing with attainment I would have them say
“this is the day that hope is like a shadow play
with hands that make the shadows go away.”