To Have

In these hours before dawn
that aren’t night-time

My hands feel empty

All day
they move about
without seeing themselves
They point at things

Only one of them is quicker
As your eye settles on other things

Sliding over the page
it feels and conceals
Doodles the mind’s thoughts
The heart’s longings
Steadies the cup at the utterance
of hopelessness
Positions itself as a shield

In these hours before dawn
that aren’t night-time

This hand can’t hear your voice
Can’t reach over to wake you
Won’t taste the face it touches

It yearns to articulate
an emptiness
Shape the clay
that explains myself

In a quiet heap
beneath sleeping breasts
as separate as stars
hands rest
Holding their secrets

In these hours before dawn
that aren’t night-time

This hand runs a bath
tests the temperature
signals the body to follow it

Reviews

[The Tao of Bri]

Again...you rperspective and imagination floors me.. I love how you think about things. Great form and write of course..but your content is always so interesting!~B

[A.J. Smith]

Another wonderful reading experience, again inviting several reads, each revealing a new gem. This is so beautiful, so intimately introspective. I suspect I will be more aware of my own hands next time I find myself lying awake, next to my love, in the hours before dawn.

[Cold Coffee Magazine]

I don't want to get up...do I have too?

You've painted a perfect picture of comfortability. It was a vivid delight to read.

Dave