These Hands
These hands cradled the window-stunned sparrow, and caressed the stiff hairs on the hide of the elephant.
These hands tended the garden, strummed the strings, and focused the lens on all things abandoned and broken.
These hands held the walking stick up the mountain, over the frozen river, and down the path of enlightenment.
These hands kneaded the dough, carried water from the well, and kindled the fire of longing . . .
bone-white
gnarled driftwood
these hands
no longer able to play
the soft notes of your skin
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