curious fingers

curious fingers

touching tears at a distance.
a tip of the hat you wore to shade
your shoulders and nose from the sun.
curious fingers run across the asphalt
of the human condition. a confession
of eager and idle wildness. a tempest
in a teapot full of jasmine and rose petals.
poured into cupped hands to drink. knuckles
rapping an impatient rhythm on the silver
we see our hands reflected in. protected
in all things by our need to survive. alive
we will make it into an uncertain tomorrow.


William F. Devault. all rights reserved.