ten days.

Today I went to the mountains, to walk by the creek
and be surrounded by warmer solitude.

it wasn’t far on the trail, when the feeling of your hand
in mine was missing; and the ache returned.
the memory of kindle, leaves turned transparent
insides exposed to the sun

it brought on the kinetic memory in the nerves
of your hand holding mine.

the longing, for your calluses
for your flat-end fingertips
the orange of your palms from too many carrots
the human weight under the webbing of my hands
became so unbearable

that I reached out for the nearest appendage-
an evergreen. with its platiscy feel,
held my hand in hers.
the green lace fingers bent themselves in between
my fingers. they were the lightest things.

we held hands for a while.
and it did not suffice for yours—
but it did feel like an old friend
who knows when I am sore.