The hands ..............

 

The hands 

With hands makes peace make war 

With hands all makes and breaks 

With hands makes the poem ─ and are of land. 

With hands make war ─ and are peace. 

With hands ripping the sea. With hands tilling. 

There are stone houses but these 

hands. And they are the fruit and the word 

the hands that are the corner and are the weapons. 

And they stuck fast in time as barbs 

hands you see in the transformed things. 

Leaves will in the wind: Green harps. 

Hand is every flower every city. 

Nobody can beat these swords: 

in your hands get the freedom.