Jane's "A Hand"

A Hand
by Jane Hirshfield
A hand is not four fingers and a thumb. Nor is it palm and knuckles, not ligaments or the fat's yellow pillow, not tendons, star of the wristbone, meander of veins. A hand is not the thick thatch of its lines with their infinite dramas, nor what it has written, not on the page, not on the ecstatic body. Nor is the hand its meadows of holding, of shaping— not sponge of rising yeast-bread, not rotor pin's smoothness, not ink. The maple's green hands do not cup the proliferant rain. What empties itself falls into the place that is open. A hand turned upward holds only a single, transparent question. Unanswerable, humming like bees, it rises, swarms, departs.
-I really liked the comparison of the maple leaf to a hand...so possible so "true" feeling.What a lovely, mysterious poem. I like the imagery's seamless progression from the human body to the tree, and from the products of holding an implement to the possibilities that come with letting go. I love the last two couplets - a hand turned upward - and the way the poem ends so abruptly with the word "departs" without any final punctuation. Interesting effect!    Jane compares a hand to many differnt elements, A hand to her is not just a hand. Its not just fingers and knuckles its more symbolic .