The Feel of Hands
The hands explore tentatively,
two small live entities whose shapes
I have to guess at. They touch me
all, with the light of fingertips
testing each surface of each thing
found, timid as kittens with it.
I connect them with amusing
hands I have shaken by daylight.
There is a sudden transition:
they plunge together in a full-
formed single fury; they are grown
to cats, hunting without scruple;
they are expert and desperate.
I am in the dark. I wonder
when they grew up. It strikes me that
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