In this cup, I once held the world;
you were so tiny, skin like starlight
against my worn and tired hands.
In the years and the hate,
I could not always keep you
close. I gave my life
to piercing the darkness
and you, cupped in these hands,
you gave me light. You forged
my knees straight and standing
when I wanted them to buckle. This world
I have tried to build
is suddenly empty -
these cracked fingers, once etching
the course of the river of history,
no longer hold water.