"My Soul I Hold"

My soul I hold
in my hand, heavy as a plate,
a heaving rack of slate,
glabrous, matte-glossed,
and in my other a hammer
to lay the sweating rock to rest.


Between my hairy fingers
a cut of felt now lies limply,
drooping through the cracks
like pearled honey drops
leaking from a bear bottle;
tender memories poke the sore
for the emptiness they reveal
the elation gone, a trough
in its place, the cracks in between.


by Timidy Cole