Three Wild Vespers: Hands

I

O lost, O wisp, O ghost-
pale moth—fearful

and flitting against the luminous
ceiling: my hands also glow

with borrowed light. Descend. 
Be still. Stay with me. I will 

carry you through the locked door 
into summer’s open night. 

II

Rabbit in your burrow, quivering
like a fist: tomorrow’s gold day is free 

of tooth and claw, and the yellowed
fields are safe for your play

and your love. These gentled 
fingers have left sweet autumn 

roots in their dark soil—take and eat 
as from a friend’s harmless hand.

III

Ice-knuckled creek: remember 
your summer bed and edge—

how each green rain or dry day
can swell or dwindle your flow.

Receive and hold my wintered palms
until ripe clouds gather for spring.

These cold hands also want a warm 
storm to soften their cracked banks.

Benjamin Cutler is an award-winning poet and author of the full-length book of poetry, The Geese Who Might be Gods (Main Street Rag, 2019). His poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize numerous times and has appeared in Zone 3, Tar River Poetry, and EcoTheo Review, among many others. In addition, Benjamin is a high-school English and creative writing teacher in the Southern Appalachian Mountains of western North Carolina where he lives with his family and frequents the local rivers and trails.

Published June 15 2022