Two hands

hold time.

Whose?

Old hands: new
blood pulses
through
old
hands.

I don't think a clock's hands.
But the odd old
span itself.
A fan between two
hands -- one
an old hand, one
ever not young yet.

Are these two hands
one hand? Held
in the far expanse
of time's blank fathoms. Between

these hands, all the sounds
time beats, all
vibration's colors, all the scenes.

The sound of One Hand?
No sound.

A fan in the hand of one hand
flashed to show the scene
but hide the mind
behind the face
behind the hand.

Now the fan is closed. The mind
itself
has turned from the scene.