"This living hand": red and green
after one year, i am conscience-calmed.
i make no conjecture about your dreaming nights. the blood of your heart has never been and will never be the blood of my heart.
and yet, each morning and each evening, i find myself examining my hand. is this my hand? i ask myself. icy silence responds like a tomb. what color are these veins? i ask. i am colorblind: red and green. knowing this, you at times loaned me your eyes.
our period of togetherness has concluded. but my hand lingers like a tomb.
i hold it toward you.