All things

And if I were to open my hands to you
What would you give me?
These are child's hands, these are grasping hands,
these are hands that speak of thirst
and the loneliness that wells within me
and you are a clear spring
you are quiet you are dim
the roots of a tree long dead reach deep
and come alive.

a frail thing, a withered thing,
mummified and afraid
cradled in the shelter of
your palms, a psalm.

A time for tears, a time for joy.
Behold, you say, I make all things new.