I hear an awful lot about
fingertips these days and
I wonder how many I'll have to touch today,
tomorrow and
the rest of my life.

The fingertips and palms of my own hands are
worried and weathered, both due to
lack of sleep and the
guitar that waits for me, always.
Gentle, the very sight calms my belly-
aching and these calluses left where I
refuse to bruise or to bleed.

When I work myself into time's duck and weave,
and I don't have to wonder how long it will take or
when I'll be able to croak out a few lines, I can only
hope, complete with the yellow wings of a canary,
that I can last longer
than this dance does.