I Press My Hand
by Doris Lynch
     From a first line by Mai Der Vang in the poem “Ear to the Night”

I press my hand
to your breathing
its oceanic to and fro
its hillocks and ravines.

I press my hand
to your bicep still strong
as the night air flows
around caressing it.

I press my hand to your lips,
quiet now, soft, resting
from the motion that night
has ended, morning will bring.

I caress my hand
to your curls, once fiery red
now white eiderdown–cloudlets
so still on my horizon.

I press my hand,
to your neck beneath
the gristly beard, feel
your Adams apple pulsing.

I skim my fingers
over your size 14 feet–
motionless and cribbed
in this safe night place.

I bring my hands to your chest
just above your heart, and feel
with them the motors
of your engine purr.





 

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