Poem 20150603

let the hands move

they move

they move on

they move of their own accord

a truth in their movement
a truth in how
they slide
the hands slide
the hands pause
and trace shapes
and trace curves

let them trace
let them draw
let them follow
and grasp
and hold

each hand
five fingers true
and a truth in the muscles
and in the tendons
and in the bones
and in the marrow of the bones
and in the anima that moves them