. . . hold infinity in the palm of your hand

                                                                             w. blake

                        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?