Miracles

A Litany of Miracles

Look at the hand
that holds the pen or floats over keyboard
as though not attached to your humanity.
Ghost pale in glowing light, flex it, fingers
move in ways at once simple, beautiful,
light, impossible. Who would have thought such a
stretch was mere bone in flesh and not the pure
motion of the divine? 

                                     What better pointer 

to what is beyond motion? No sign you can see 

shows at the surface of skin, and yet it moves
the hand, powered by a stream of human
current, the shocks and jolts of nerve
impulses across a chemical sea--
a distance so vast and so perfectly
spaced that everything moves together, so
a jazz-hand dancer, then a fist, then what?
Whatever the hand has been trained to do,
whenever it has been shown to move--all
motion not its own.

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