3 december 1997

i was thinking about
your description of his hands,
and how, in moving,
they recall a sense of 
a flock of birds,
startled.

his hands flew in Brownian patterns
seemingly of one mind,
like action at a distance.
but at each turn
of a wrist, or a finger,
how they always left one
caught off their guard,
but caught up soon enough.

each accepted back into the fold,
and again part of one mind. 

i was thinking 
of your description
and how your 
writing makes me feel marginal.


Timothy A. Clark
1997