Hands
where faces and voices
are all the same,
and people
know each other
by reaching out
and touching
their hands.
Imagine these hands
as living records
of character,
sorrow, and joy.
Some of the hands
are warm, gentle,
and forgiving,
some are scarred
and wise, a blessing.
Other hands are cold,
the kind of hands
no other hand wants
to touch, the kind
that do not want
to be touched,
that hide themselves
in pockets or pretend
they are busy with
some important,
empty task.
Imagine the moment
when hands first meet.
Imagine your hand
caressing the hand
of a stranger,
and his hand or hers
caressing yours,
and the miracle
that unfolds
when both hands
quietly yield.
Imagine the distance
two hands might travel,
the valleys and the roads,
the river beds, meadows,
and burned out woods.
Imagine the granite
of experience
as it melts and runs
like fragrant honey
down your arms,
penetrates your skin,
your heart, your mind.
February 25, 2006
Previous Entry Next Entry Return to Songs and Letters About the Author
Main Page
Author�s Note
Background
Notebook
A Listening Thing
Among the Living
No Time to Cut My Hair
One Hand Clapping
Songs and Letters
Collected Poems
Early Short Stories
Armenian Translations
Interviews
News and Reviews
Highly Recommended
Let�s Eat
Favorite Books & Authors
Useless Information
Conversation
E-mail & Parting Thoughts
Flippantly Answered Questions