I remember you with my hands
The slope of your shoulders
The comportment of a whipped dog
I feel so alive with you in my hands
As if my mouth, my real mouth will finally open
As if finally I have permission to speak in my mother tongue
A portal blows open and out fly the bones and the birds and the butterflies that jostling inside me
Out into the morass of cables that snake at my feet
I am translated into that organic matter, that golden thread
That weaves together prayers and waiting and longings
That stitches us, that sutures our wounds
I remember you with my hands
(I remember you with my hands)