Sun

There is a rhythm in my hands. A river in my hands. Forgiveness in my hands. Words become symphonies within these reaching palms. I cannot hold the world within me and all its intricate beauty. Even sunlight whispering on grass becomes too much for me. Knowing that there are cleanslated stars anchored in a jubulint sky while walking becomes too much for me. I can only let it all wash over me in the blinking of an eye. And it leaves me longing. I can hold onto nothing. I am the grass. And it is only God who takes hold of me.