fingertips sing

i feel them below

huge naked palms

suspend my body

curve under stomach

except there is no mattress

i breathe underwater

my soft insides

nestling with 

stretchy bones

filling the finger-lined belly bowl

i feel innocent and spineless

i reach toward the shinning place 

until my sides solidify

aching and stiff 

i cry because i can not hold this 

bright sharp moon

i let go 

because they flutter and gather

the hands are like birds or field mice

cupped around my floating middle

like some vital chalice 

between this world 

and the next

i peek between 

the dim outline 

of their contours, 

shadow pictures 

on the wall

there's something 

precious, precarious, 

almost visible at times...

and discerning, i grew my own

strong and small, my fins, my hands

most times i keep these hidden 

now that i am older

they turn pages

lock or unlock

sooth and steer

unfolding others

tracing line, 

mount and apex

so many eager words;

read, predict, explain...

my hands see better

they are unblinking

and fingertips sing

© agn 6.17.97