Hand Over Fist

Hand over fist

He's making money
Hand over fist
Like a sailor hauling on a line
Raising an anchor, or a sail
Buying and selling
Fuel, food, land,
Politicians

It doesn't matter
Where the rope or the profit
Comes from.
Where the endless coils
And by-products land.
There is only the rhythm of hauling it in
Addictive,
Unstoppable

He could be
Raising a sail to the very moon,
Or weighing the anchor
That holds the earth
Constant in her orbit.
Buying grain patents,
Watersheds,
Governments, and principalities

Who knows
What will happen to us all
When he comes to the end of his rope

Will the impossible world sail
Reach the top of the mast,
Grow taut, and
Catch some cosmic wind,
Carrying us off into the stars?

What then,
When everything is his, 
Food, water,
Continents, seas and air
And there is nothing else left
To own?

Who knows
What will become of him
When hand, then fist have nothing to grasp
When he must remember
How to unclench impossibly strong fingers
Letting go
Opening his palms
To shared
Moon and stars,
Air, water and still-warm bread