Things We Hold

There are things we hold 

inside our hands

some are rounded and smooth

some are sharp, and leave

impressions of teeth 

on our skin, there are things

that can be counted,

can me named, can be marked

like days on a calendar

harbingers of spring.

There are things we hold

inside our hearts

some are secrets, that

only whisper when we sleep,

are hard to capture, are

hard to keep, or to let go,

some are known, like

found objects that stick

with us, our blood is the glue,

and they don't wash away.

In our back pockets

patterns of fingerprints,

spiderwebs, fractals moving

in and out of the surface

of things, spirals of light

halos around the moon at night

seeping into the marrow

into the bones, muscles,

all those things we hold

in the hearts of our hands.