Dry Palms

My palms, oh these palms of mine, are dry as the bones scattered in the graves before Ezekiel's burning eyes. Holding on too tightly is the cause. Wrapping the grooves of my willing and naïve
fingers around something that only soaks the moisture out of my hands.

Moisture is life.

So, my hands are dry. Because I cling to things that do not bring moisture.

Oh no, let's not become angry when a fatal crack rips through your palm. Let's not wonder about the reasons for everyone that you hold breaking right before your eyes.

But, even so, let's not be afraid of this dehydration. Wrap your bleeding hands in cloths. I must let it go. You must let go of the broken pieces you secretly cup in your hands, that broken thing that you held too tightly.

Let it go.

Yes, you have learned from it.

Let it go.

Oh yeah, you have grown fond of it.

Let it go.

But, I think I can fix the pieces again- it will be brand new! A new perspective, right?

No, let it go.

We mustn't steal the dry hands of the Potter.

Change my heart, like the dew in the morning.