have I naught
one memory
of hands –
my hands before
maps were drawn
lines impressed –
a softer
winter canvas lay
where
was I
the captain
of some other ancient star
oceans slid
beneath
my one desire
message buried
deeper still
than e’er my love
command
cast about –
written down
another world created –
where flowers burst
from whispers –
touch
beyond
these hands

. . .