This beauty

is hidden

And compelled in the darkest place,

 

In the heavy palm of my hand.

And it is my hand

Where this beauty is compelled 

 

It is my hand.   

I can feel the wings tearing at the skin behind my hand

where the powder is wearing its way out

 

@@@

 

Delicate Psyche,

 

Her gentle wing laced with bone

And stiff web

Locked in joints of chitinous armor,

Rowing the summer air.

 

@@@

 

Remembering the worm

Crawling into the velvet padded cockpit

Of some sailing machine,

Whispering the drive train to life,

Laden with sun jewels

And acres of fabric,

Spinning, turning

In the heavy palm of my hand