Like the imprint

of my two thumbs in clay,

so you appear, my Lord,

by what you leave behind.

Disguised

in the tracery of fingerprint,

the whorls a world

of delicate, true lines,

you are revealed.

You mark me deeper still,

that imprint, too, indelible.

You say

you’d know me anywhere

by that mark”yours”

in me.

Those thumbprints

leave a trail,

like deer tracks in wet earth,

(What passed this way?)

delicate,

four-hoved, aloof,

shy of being named.

Or

like a mussel shell

pried open,

broken, free,

its heart revealed.

I am revealed, O Lord,

within your hand,

your mark in me.