Would you write about the hand?
There wasn’t much.
My hand can write
Click a shutter
So I can talk with you
From a distance where I cant touch you
With this hand of mine; that hand of yours
My life is etched on my hand they say
And every line so engraved
Changes with every fist I clench
Every glass I caress
Every cigarette perpendicular in my fingers
Even this thought
Ethereal as it is otherwise
Finds shape, meaning and expression
By this hand
Never thought about it much
There wasn’t much
About my hand.