The Blackhand, its fragments now washed by the waters and
sacred sand of the Licking River, once watched over this place
where no man would raise his hand against another man.
I hope my hands are black with the soil of the life I live.
As I stand before the now barren cliff,
I pray for a world that wears a Blackhand petroglyph.
June 18, 2003 (reprinted from peacegrooves.wordpress.com)