Your hands come alive
following contours of form and thought
in carvings and chairs
glass cases and limestone floors
lingering on rock and river and leaf
caressing amorphous light itself
tracing the luminescent soul in strokes of ink and lead
Your hands move
like a lover relearning the body of his beloved
after a long separation
after touching nothing but garish and violent
glorifications of mediocrity
responding to lives dedicated to destruction
I see them now
discovering again the beautiful war of a life
triumphant in the face of an uncaring world
soft but undefeated
loving even the hated and the haters
breathing kindness when trampled upon
creating beauty from pain and ugliness
I love your hands
each crooked knuckle and joint of your fingers
the rugged callouses marking a lifetime of effort
the chipped nails betraying your mortality
the sensitivity in those fingertips running along an edge
taking in the world like eyes a-hungering for their mother country
I watch them dance
swift this moment and slow the next
pointing and drawing and touching and grasping
I sense your love and attention behind each movement
and my body suddenly cries out with thirst
for your hands on me and in mine