This place, this fragile singing place. This life, this haunted, humming, exquisitely aching life. We’re not built properly to cradle this like some infant thing, these hands too rough, this patience too thin. Try, always we try, but there’s fragility to the beating heart of our world, there’s glasslike thinness to the life we live. A moment, it begins, fumbling hands for found love, a moment later, it ends, wrinkled palms to the sky. From softness to calloused, we are lost in the transformation, wondering all the while if we were ever gentle enough to hold this whisper, this promise.
We can try, we always do, cupping hands like holding water, like weightless bird fills the space, hoping we do not forget ourselves and squeeze around it in fear, in impatience, in anxiety. We hold one another instead, hope their skin is accustomed to the roughness, hope they make a sound if we hold too tightly. They hold us, and life continues.
We have not the hands for this life, this wild, fragile, fleeting life, but we’ve hands for each other. Hold on to me, and I to you, and watch as we transform.
We have not the hands
built for the fragility
of this precious life.
Haiku on Life by Tyler Knott Gregson
Song of the Day
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