A Good Birth Day

The hand cannot grasp water
but two hands, cupped, catch it
The hands cannot make rain
but patience awaits it
and two hands, cupped, catch it.

Life is a flood
that overflows the borders
made by our hands
but still there is enough
to drink.

The hand does not grasp water
but the cup of the hands offers
as much water as the hands
can carry
to the lips.

A year is the span of rain and rivers
that two hands, open
receive within their borders
and carry
to the lips.

(This poem was written by my friend Mark Schultz, for my birthday in 2006. I just found it while looking through memorabilia this evening and cleaning out my bedroom closet. A treasure, Mark. Thank you.)