The palms of our hands touch,
their intricate lines joining together like seamless maps.
The light surrounds us,
and we are quiet.
My fingers,
were made for yours.
They were made for gentle hands,
and eternal love.

You are all I know.
(but you were the first to let go).

when I was an ancient five    
I KNEW I was different
from all other creatures alive  
I did not know to ask the wise ones  
why?    
I could read their minds  
but I guess most men, barely three feet tall
are cursed with this skill  
so I watched and wondered  
and though I did not know how fish breathed  
I knew I was one, out of water  
my gills gasping  
as I walked this chunk of stone  
others seemed so at home,
not I,  
I would hide under the covers from the devil  
my sister said was real  
if they feared the same demons  
they, the infinitely normal,
did not let this be known  
so I watched and wondered
and counted their breaths  
(even then, I knew, they had a finite number until their deaths)  
and made a disturbing discovery--I did not breathe like they  
but faster than some, slower than others  
and when I tried to get in sync with them  
it would work for only a few inhalations  
and the “they” again somehow left me behind  
to breathe air, alone
when water was likely my truer home  
I can’t recall when I gave up the quest, to be like they  
they who all breathe in unison,  but I suspect  
it was on some summer day
in the dry world of a five year old stone walker  
who should never have left the deep blue sea