Hands remember

Be still, my hands, be quiet and
cease the endless fidgeting
on shriveled keyboards
and depleted canvases
where words are scarce
and colours are blind.

Be still, my hands, be good and
refrain from quivering around
deadly sharpened pencils
and blackish charcoals
that tarnish your nails
and creep under your skin.

Be still, my hands, be reasonable
for in your incessant seeking
to hold and touch other hands
to conquer the untouchable
lands and seas and trees and rocks
I fear I am loosing myself.

Oh, lord, there aren't enough pockets
not enough cuffs nor gloves
to safeguard these hands of mine
from the daunting unknown
to hinder their longing
and appease their thirst for truth.

My hands reclaim
their kingdom of touch
for they are more than
an instrument of getting things done
they are an instrument of grace
and within their grasp
lies the key to freedom.

My hands remember
the touch of earth
the touch of wind
the touch of rain
the touch of fire
but most of all, my hands remember
the touch of love.