i need to use my hands

they are small, but
they are hungry

their fingertips, though calloused,
want to offer gentleness

these palms
criss-crossed by
the lines of a haphazard life
also know what it is
to cradle with care

these hands are hungry
to grasp, to hold, to stroke

they yearn for rock,
strings, clay, pen and paper,

and so
i go seeking.