Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HAND, by MARY BRODINE



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HAND, by            
First Line: Resistless to the lowest task
Last Line: That out of chaos called the world.
Subject(s): Hands


Resistless to the lowest task,
A self-solution at the last
Fulfills thy little service, hand.

Regret no segment's single line;
These curling fingers, like the vine,
Must yield their fruited requisite,

To sweep, to serve, displace, bestow;
Proportionate thy strength shall grow
Until the measure is complete.

And that's divine, the measure set
Whereof, amorphous, we beget
A shapeliness, emergent form

Too bright for definition; trust,
It is like sun upon the dust,
That gathers light from every mote.

No futile labor blindly do;
Hand, a spirit works in you
That out of chaos called the world.





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