where I've put everything I've ever loved

My hands mime shapes of something that was loved there.

As sand contours truth - patterns of tenderness make it from scratch.

so quiet is a resting hand, so full.

Here is where we keep the things we cherish most,

Not held, as such, in fist,

but in a palm, a whispered thank you.

An outstretched hand the word please,

The safest thing, it wouldn’t know, so gently held

 where I’ve put everything I’ve ever loved.