funny how my fingers slightly bend and extend,
but not all the way...
I have these hands which tell me stories
stories I had forgotten
but they are sure to remind me
with each glance at them
of a time when they held firmly onto life
onto the moments when the grasping
was never a struggle...
they try to reach out to younger,
smooth graced hands in the dreams of night
chasing and asking to bring back
its vitality, its limber and fluid joints
untainted and free..
they grip the moons stay
so night will last in a forever dream with
palms open wide lifting toward the waking morn
they wince in the deformity of light
and distorting pain
but mostly they wince from the remembrance
once lived before....
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