Behold the Human

My fingers wander again over your hand. Again every joint of your fingers will be felt by my fingertips. The trembling strings of my nerves will give the imprint of your hand again to the page of my mind: in sleep in loneliness in the midst of the crowd in waking... An imprint like a cradle holding my mind — and me — like a newborn. Everywhere, it was here: between two hands pressed together like this: a nest from which a sky was born — before everyone's eyes — on the human earth a human without ruin from the earthquake of loneliness; on the turning earth in the blue circle of affection. All beauties were here are here: in the pressure of your fingers on my palm; as a sign of answer to the need of a hand that came toward you, bloody and bruised, through the barbed wires...