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So have you of late considered your thumbs?
Not eyes, not hair, not smile…but thumbs?
Elder poets of verse long ago
May have found divinity in the big right toe,
 But, have you taken seriously your thumbs?
 
“Th” … rare dipthong found in only few languages.
“Umb”…steady chant of pause or unknowing for ages.
Put them together and you may have rare unknowing
With or without any rare confusion showing.
 Or, do our thumbs know in a rare way?
 
Do you grasp your pen with your pinky?
Approve the evening meal with a forefinger up?
Press the space bar with a trusty knuckle?
Hold fast with a ring finger the securing of a buckle?
Earthly agents only of the common are they, you say?
 
Would you wipe tears from a lover’s cheek with a palm instead?
Or gnaw on your carpal bones in moments of dread?
Do you rub the hand of a patient with your wrist for comfort?
Or use your nails to anoint with oil those painfully encumbered?  
 
Blessed and humble anchors of things ordinary and graspable.
Honorable rooks of our moves toward the ungraspable.
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