And all around

there is the sky, blue and open

and us, small and curved

as if sitting in a giant hand

We wander sometimes too

But always come back to the plam of the hands

And there we  bathe and discourse

debate and meditate

and our whole world fits in the giant hand

until we climb to the face

and meet the lips

that eat us up

clothes, meditation and all

and after a small burp of approval

digest the best of us

with half a lemon queezed

into a glass of ice water