Your hands <br />your beautiful naked hands <br />coming to rest <br />like butterflies <br /> <br />upon the flowers <br />you are arranging <br />or flying with laughter <br />like birds into each new gesture <br /> <br />that articulates a question <br />& leaves it hanging in the air <br />until you sculpt an answer <br />from the space around you <br /> <br />me listening for hours <br />as your hands talk <br />stained with paint <br />charcoal or chalk <br />cut with sculpture <br /> <br />or held against your face <br />how they seem to console <br />the mystery of the mystery <br />that lies behind your eyes <br />your hands more naked than your nakedness <br /> <br />hand resting now upon hand <br />like silence sleeping <br />your soul <br />held quietly <br />as if it lay dreaming <br />awakening now <br />as if conducting unheard music <br /> <br />your hands <br />that hypnotise me <br />with their honesty <br />and gracefulness <br />your hands <br />your hands <br /> <br />open to <br />receive <br />my unworthiness <br />turn it <br />into love <br />your hands <br />cradling my head <br /> <br />holding my thoughts <br />so lovingly <br />your hands <br />your beautiful <br />naked <br />hands.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/your-hands-4/
