I still have a scar on my hand from a sharp blade.
I forget when the cut was made.
One of many over a long lifetime
of slips & full failures.
Was it my hand you took in yours?
You knew there was no such thing as safety.
Each finger filled with past threats &
disgrace from the things I have touched.
To just touch you.
Can your grace erase the seared scars
& poignant, putrid memories
of these hard hands?