someday maybe you will see me
flying through the frosty woods
of memory, my eyes wide open
fixed far beyond the horizon

my pupils searching for
something luminous and lost
maybe you will see me
washed up on memory's moist beach
beside a track of lonely footprints

maybe you will feel my hands
lightly tickle your ribs like fins
as i swim through your heart's
red coral reef, my fingers destroyed
by pure love,because my hands have always
been my best language

maybe you will see me
stroking the petals of a blushing rose
or caressing your haphazardly cast shadow
by the waterlily pond of memory
where moonlight overflows into the meadow

my hands will tell you in my best language
beauty is a continuous creation
that knows no gender
not bound by tradition or discipline
love is invisible, indomitable, and timeless
when spoken in the softest touch of hands