. . . hold infinity in the palm of your hand
by Sister Lou Ella Hickman
If we could hold words,
what would they feel like?
Would we discover the smoothness of moist earth
or the weight of steel or brick?
What color would words shimmer in?
Could they change from the bright orange of sunset
to the color of midnight?
Could they boil like water or flow like lava?
Finally, would they breathe—
exhaling their own wonder
until our winter’s indifference made them sleep
beneath the vast whiteness
of so much uncaring?