In your hands, my hands
by Alex Fan Moniz
An orchestra made of fingers
You're the Maestro of silences
Leaping in a clear spring
You tell me new and pure things
Like the first road ever walked
I cross your window, open wide to me
But to others yours is another world, unfathomable and odd.
And when my hands ask
why are you so?
Your hands laugh and say
that's just how you are!
And your eyes blink like windows
With no frame or glass
Sometimes limpid, sometimes bleak
Perhaps strange, perhaps beautiful
Your silent world is like no other
A special place I see sometimes
When at night in my dreams you have a voice
And gestures are shaping horizons
With no certainty or lies
Doesn't matter what we are
We're translucent, we just are.
For my aunt Albertina Moniz, born deaf-mute