When she was young
he took her careless hands
in a steady grasp
and ran full speed
through fields of wild, lush blooms
and the days fell clear and bright
When her hands became heavy
clasping years of toil
he soothed and folded them neatly
peeling off the tediousness of time
the scatter and spill of shared burdens
Now, her shaky hands
motion aimlessly
bereft of delicate peace
he reaches to hold
those once beautiful, reckless hands
of the one savage soul that burned for him
and to caress those lovely fingers
yes, still lovely now
in the twilight of life
in the absence of heartbeats
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