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(Laid) Palms to Tell
05:52
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Your breath could resolve
a thousand harrowing pains,
your mind, design release
from a thousand conceit's pangs.
Tend to all,
tend to all
reading Portuguese palms
and tarrying contrary
in moaning light
where she moans
that lighted tone
owed to wrestling everything.
No rest for wresting hands
though the crestings demand
a moment's pause;
moving in your breath
and shaped of your design,
the palms to tell.
Tend to all
tend to all
tend to all.
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