When Hands Travel
by Odin Roark

When hands travel,
does the clock wonder
as it watches us watch it moving?

I see us gaze at numbers like forgotten memories in orbit,
like lonely sentinels guarding the bridges of life’s journey.

When hands travel,
we watch with glances when we are young,
with apprehension as we age,
with resolve or resentment when we are old.

But always…
When Hands travel,
we watch the precise start and stop of moving forward.
We ask ourselves of distance and time,
when it is the trust in endless existence that matters.

Hands do travel,
measurements of time are created,
marked with vacuums of living life… or impatiently waiting for death.

Might it be that hands that travel
monitor only our present existence?