On the other hand by Nancy Dzina

After Jennifer K. Dick's poem "Palm Reading" after Cole Swensen’s poem “Fingers: Alignment”

Someone else sees

in their hands our eyes

no longer (ours). This fading’s

not so bad, so long

ago apparent, no need

to rush things, after all

we have light years

before our map carries

much less names.

                           Invisible

petals drop, the flower

bursts to finish, the floor

holds a different notion of

where we are in the story.

The waggle of pages, time

gesture time: gently just-so cast

inner layer tender out then mend

one for another, knowing

and knowing not what hint

of rock may steady then break

any drift of witness. Even

interlocked phalanges

spring from open palms

unbrailled with potential.

When I was a kid, though I never

saw it, I knew the congregation

of the steepled church of hands

could become unpeopled

at the blink of a trigger guard.

Try to disturb my fist.

Good luck with that.