“The hands went along with the body
wherever it went. They wept
when the body wept, trembled
each time the body fell silent
with pleasure. Salt and regret
left their mark on them. Babies
and wineglasses were entrusted
to them, since the hands were
precise, and enigmatic. Were they light
beacons, really? The hands opened calmly
like seeds, endured the passage of time
like a supermarket, its doors opening
and closing all day and all night.
Bejeweled, tattooed, they were
never hungry, not for melons or
experience or for the Ever After,
since a seamless universe had been
given to their keeping.”

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