you have the smallest hands than buds

on seedlings have you have them smaller

than the hands of seeds in the hands
of grass you have than the rain has



abandoned to their own exquisite purpose

snapping at tassels in the dust and haze

swallows carry erratic moths to eaves
beyond the fallow edge of the distracted fields



till squalls soon cover the last pollen and waste grain

and settle their barbaric clarity
over an insulated chrysalis



you have the smallest hands than rain

or buds or beads on grass or bits of leaf
or snow on snow you have the smallest hands