Muddy Hands


A boy so young

His head as small

As the moon through a window

Holds the earth in his unsure fingers

Spinning it carelessly

Tossing it high in the air

Higher and higher still

Until it can no longer be caught


It slips away

A skipped rock

Past the clouds

Over the sun

And into the darkness with no end

And it’s gone


But he is a boy

After all

So he reaches into the darkness

And pulls it out just like that

Rubs the muck off on his wrinkled shirt

And rolls it

Rolls it

Back under his feet


Now he plucks the moon

From its dark curtain

With his muddy hands

And spins it carelessly



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