In the picture
they stood
criss-crossed  
poised
in white gloves without a speck of dust,
perfect... still.

They had learned how to stand,
each finger elongating
throughout time
straining to stand still.

They had learned how to move
after the fore-arm then the arm,
had learned how to be  raised, palms outward,
four fingers pointed in salute
motionless... still.

In another instant which
survived in a momentary
tic-tock, tic-tock
******* stood
on a trigger, aiming point-blank...still.

But this was not in the still of the picture:
They had known how to mold clay
until it surrendered under able fingers
and took shape
how to be passionate
how to grasp
how to give caresses, and
squeeze oranges
how to twirl another during the Varsouviana.
They had known how to hold a baby.