the old man's hands <br />know the feel of the petal, <br />his bruised lips the taste. <br />his soul rising with bloom, <br />and laying down with finality. <br />his heart the earth, <br />that opens and devours... <br />his spirit the waiting, <br />that becomes creation... <br />the old man left staring, <br />through a window with no name!<br /><br />Eric Cockrell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-man-s-hands/
