the memory of hands
where fingers go
and the gates are barred
a place remembered
past fingers curled
in a mesh of wire diamonds
the space beyond silence where
fingers once danced
with jewels and laughter
if only my hands could call
receiver fingers ringing
all down the hot line to you
only sun on my hands warmer
my fingers number
because the wire is cold
if I let go, step back and
fingers become digits
I shall never count again.
2012 © Andie Davidson
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