Carrying.

This is for whatever it grows,
Here in my palm--

For stems, and schwag seeds
Stub-handed cacti--
Their saltwater--
And stubble-skinned canard
Spreaders.

Here in my possession,
Somewhat scarred,
Here.

Is it so strange to want a handful of
Something bruising with generosity--

Something the hand must not have
So much as it must endure?