One hand already outside of life
They are still waiting for hypothetical salvation by the void,
Meanwhile they keep writing under covers thickened by the most
High and dark of silences
And know that from then on all that is left to them is to be that hand
condemned to blindly feel its way through the visibly remaining time
by nothing more than the return of the paired hand outside death.
And from both hands, now one inside the other
The unnamable prayer as one single hand
Will blossom wholly at last.