His Hands Are Birds

This was inspired by a friend who is always very expressive with his hands.

His Hands Are Birds

He motions everything,

His hands are birds

Caught in a hurricane,

Blood-pumping hearts

And frail, fidgety wings

He motions everything,

Like a toddler

Finger-paints his words

In blocks of blue and green,

Seeks rainbows,

Plants treasure

Where none is.

His hands are birds,

Pale, wordless birds,

As the sudden slant

Of a seagull,

Plants a single

Exclamation mark

Across an aching

Skin-white sky,

Leaves earth

And trees and branches

Breaking and trembling

Wordless

And bird-like,

He motions

Everything.

Reviews

[Michael G. Smith]

Great poem and tribute to your friend.