even though all my skin is dry,
it’s the hands that have it worst

by the end of the day they strain
against the tightness of invisible gloves 

when I rub them together it makes 
white noise like the sound inside a shell

when I study them in the light I see all the little  lines made more obvious in their thirst  

they look like tree bark, creek banks, snake skin,
fish scales, desert sands, bat wings, and cave walls

in my fingerprints, I see swirling storms as seen from space, whirlpools, and every kind of eye

when I lotion my hands I hug one with the other
in grateful prayer for the gift 

of such lovely expansive togetherness  
and my ability to perceive it