The Moving Hand

It is the moving hand that is my word,

the flesh and bone creating, the arm bent

where rough and honest country men are heard

striding over a various continent,

plowing their fields, driving their cattle down,

bringing their market products into town...

there the people moving along the walk,

the men coming home from work, the tired men

with big shoulders and the economic talk,

the shout at the door and the going out again

and boys and girls together in the white

moments captured out of the village night.

It is from earth that we can always take

women to love, a hold against despair,

and that continual chance of life to make

food for our mouth and thoughts for thinking where

the struggle and the hope within the land

are told in the natural movement of the hand.