tactile

put out your hands
cupped into a
rudimentary vessel

now fill them
with love
with joy
with sadness
with hate

you cannot

they hold naught
but empty air

and yet
these things
we feel

they weigh on us
or lift us up
wash over us
like water
like dust
we breathe them in

tactile and tangible
yet still insubstantial
our better and worser
angels that waltz
on the head of a pin