Of Fumbling Caresses...a Sonnet

God created the world out of nothing,
and as long as we are nothing, He can make
something out of us. ~Martin Luther~

Moon-crescent dangles above tree-tops where

Night’s phantom fingers strum dawn’s blushing air

Blue and pink chalice tips over the dirt

Cradle of heartache and laughter and hurt

…now the moon fades into rivers of gold

A new day is drawn from Time’s ethereal fold

We touch our step to ephemeral soil

Reach for the hour of tender-sweet toil

We cannot tell what this new day will yield

As over the swell of earth's ocean and field

Daylight expands from night’s onyx abyss

Into human hands of fumbling caress

The unknown ripples; life-waves on earth’s dust

So I reach for the Fingers of One I can trust

© Janet Martin