My Hand and I

My hand and I


My hand
Said it wanted to touch
A hand
That had been crossed by
The shadows
Of long dark hair
Under a shower light.
I said to my hand,
"Hand, why aren't you,
just happy to touch
the leg of a wine glass."
My
hand
Said the leg
Of
a wine glass
Was glass, not flesh.
I thought of her
With the auburn glow
In her dark hair,
Thanked my hand
For never leaving me.


Duane Locke

Posted over on DeepSouth