Your Hands

Your hands
were the tools of my doing
and undoing.

Articulate thumbs
met finger tips
in signs of approbation

or reproach. Things
that were grasped
or not.

Hammers that
pound in nails
and claw them out.

Shovels that dig holes
or fill them
just the same.

We made
the same gesture
for hello and goodbye.

If I wrote these words
from last to first
no one else would know.

About Ray Sharp

Poet, endurance athlete, retired public health planner
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