Hands

We are born to feel
         our way through life
the instinctive outreach
         of the hands :
first tactile vision
         first bearings
before the eyes truly focus
         shapes and textures
manipulated as we grasp
          objects and turn them over
in our tiny hands
         intrigued by the connection
with all that is within
         and outside ourselves
The warmth of the mother’s breast
         at which the infant paws
as it sucks on the nipple
         the touch that binds
in bonds that last a life

True that the eyes lock
          : they engage as sensors
that say yea or nay
         come or go
but once permission is granted
         the hands are there
to seal the embrace
         to hold fast for dear life

A language all of their own
         that speechless lovers relearn
as their fingers gently explore
         the contours of a face
the shape of an ear
         the softness of the flesh
that flows down to the hips
         caressing each curve
with open palm
         accumulating an entire
topography
         a whole palpitating body
of accidental knowledge

True labourers in the vineyards
         it is the hands that bring home
the spoils of love and tenderness
         this I believe hand on heart

John Lyons