“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.”