I held tight
To her hand
As though doing so
Would keep her spirit
Anchored in this world.
Now, looking at my hands,
I wonder what their good for
If they are unable
To secure the things
We love most;
It must be the same thought
That tortures the surgeon's
mind.
It seems my hands are only good at
Holding emptiness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem