Hand

Nov 5 2011


Your hand is warm.

As a captive bird

loose-boned, and tiny

enclosed in mine
holds unnaturally still.

The soft flutter

of a muffled heart.

The calm acquiescence

of prey.

Except your hand in  mine

controls me

with supernatural strength.

As if I were a blind man

holding on.

And even could I fly

I'd surely stay grounded,

a bird of prey, a lethal raptor

content to be fed

by hand.