Fingertips

Here I go again, fingertip to fingertip
with myself; that playful, confident one
emerging from the mists of time to grasp
my hand and dance me through mayhem
and wonder. From this side of the frosted
glass I cannot read my expression, can’t
even make out my features; but my hands
speak of childhood’s freedom and the energy
of youth. Exuberance moves me into myself
more fully. Before I know it, I’m stepping to
the beat to navigate the disarray, while my
other has dissolved into a previous reality,
leaving only the warmth of his fingers on mine,
and a stronger heartbeat. I love falling through
the cracks in the connectedness of self.

 

Photo below (by Rory Clark) was the starting point for this piece

fingertips

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