Hand Dancing

Hand dancing in the afternoon
and I am feeling your absence
in these wave movements of longing.

I look at my hands
and reclaim your memory.
How you felt through their desire.

How the world went away for us
and came back a stranger.
You now live in my hand dancing
and sometimes pour out of my finger tips
becoming words for a while to be seen.

I think if I lost my hands
I would lose my memory of such things
and would no longer hear or smell you.
I know that my hands have visions
for they are always shaping your form
out of nothing at all.

We dance like this on long afternoons
when there are only these hands here.