I reach for the ephemeral.
Its mists play in my fingers,
Writhing and wriggling,
Like a child joyous in dust.
Slowly my touch shapes
The child’s games,
Gives names, desires, plots,
And draws out a story.
Yes, friends, that is all I do.
I give the unknowable
Hands to play on and with
So that we both can be known.
I Am Saha 