Oh sure Nilly suggests the "hands" topic. . .

Thank you!

Oh sure Nilly suggests the "hands" topic. . .

Hey! She really DID! I mean, I'm not complaining....

"...the network of veins in
your hands changed to the underside
of a leaf."
-"While I May Still Understand" Annette Allen Country of Light

When no one is there to see and remember, the leaves shiver, the interwoven strands of vines come alive with purpose, part down the middle of their mass, and fall away to each side, halves of a curtain parted. What sleeps within unfolds, rises to its true height, and stands clad in motley brown and green and gold, crowned in laurel and holly twined with gilt-edged ivy. The hands clasping loosely the edges of its cloak are made of leaves, overlapped and woven, shaped into instruments of use, the leaf-veins grown into sinew and bone.

Oh, Bev, how lovely.

I saw it, you know?

And thanks.

My first one:

Arpeggio

I remember his hands, memory bringing tactility to eyes and heart.

The knuckles were bony, somehow elegant. From thumb to pinky, the stretch on the keyboard was well over an octave; he kept the nails trimmed, but they were beautiful, pale half-moons never reflecting illness, a faulty heart, someone else's kidneys. His fingers were longer than mine, bent more easily, were somehow reflective of a self-containment I lacked. He never took his hands for granted.

Fingers made music, on the piano, on my body. They still play during the night, marking the chilly march of the night hours, toward morning.

Mmm. That's very visual. And tactile. And would fit into the memory category, as well. I'm trying to hear it, too.

Hmm. The drabble became this:

Leaves shiver, interwoven strands of vines
come alive with purpose, part
down the center of their mass and fall away
like halves of a curtain parted.

The hands that clasp the edges of its cloak
are made of leaves overlapped and woven
shaped into instruments of use
leaf-veins grown into sinew and bone.

With some changes in punctuation and line breaks is now this:

Leaves shiver
interwoven strands of vines
come alive with purpose
part down the center of their mass
and fall away like halves
of a curtain parted.

The hands that clasp the edges of its cloak
are made of leaves
overlapped and woven, shaped
into instruments of use
leaf-veins grown
into sinew and bone.

Still needs some work. And a title.

That has some lovely internal rhythms to it, either way.