My hands are full of duties,
of begrudged obligations,
so full they cannot hold the grains of sand,
sea-washed and dredged from the deeps,
that trickle one by one to be lost in the vast sea.
My ears are full of voices,
the cacophonous cries of laughter and sorrow,
of people I will never know,
so full I cannot hear the slender sound,
the rich and rippling song of the bird
that wakes me singing in the tree,
then flies with the first light,
while I am still befuddled with sleep.
My heart is full of cares,
my own, and my own, and still my own,
for the cares of others cannot come near,
my hands too full to hold and embrace,
my ears too full to listen to the breathless story,
and in my heart, a jagged wilderness of broken dreams.
open my hands to catch the wind
that carries the song
that lingers behind the flight of the bird
across the billows of my heart
and stoop to find amid the silver grains
a shiny fragment that will still do.