Connective Tissue

Sometimes the center of the hand burns, suddenly

a field for the heat. I find it.

Realize my life. If I am

the body, its feelings, not the thoughts about the body

and its feelings, there is also the feeling that comes

not after but in search of, that leads me toward. Is that also

my life before I move into it? If in the middle

of a storm I throw open hands and find an absence

of storm, am I present in the world? If I step back to search

for an expression of the world, and what I find instead is

a burning field in my hand, what do I express?

The quiet room either asks or marries my asking.