the backs of these hands


sun-worn, somewhat weathered,

with age spots, meandering veins,

creased knuckles, a finger

or two arthritic and one ringed,


remind me of sixty years

housed in this flesh,

these two eyes astride this nose,

those hands defining my scope of vision:

my interface with a reality

they cannot hold.


remind me I am human,

blessed with mechanism of presence,

a phenomenon of nature,

pulsating, breathing,

vital, mobile, capable,


a vehicle of clear


an experience of truth,

quietly minding

a busy world.


remind me eternity

does exist

under this skin,

within this rib cage;

entrusted to

this compilation of cells,

these vials of atoms,

energy with form;

home to viscera and thought,

trained to thrive, strive and engage,

to witness, be still, and detach:

to realize

the arcana within

and without.




Copyright James Phoenix 2017

updated 5/7/2017