Children hold each other
sometimes in ways we forget.
World over, children are a universal city.
Love is a very natural thing to them,
and they show it by holding hands.
By being themselves
and saying to each other
we’re connected.
I walked with my twin brother
like that once.
I held my girl’s hand like that.
There was this warm place between us.
We belonged together.
Whatever holds the world together,
it’s in our fingers, our palms,
and we were talking there,
without words.
Like those real quiet mornings
when the streets are a layered cake,
silver and light,
with a blue frosting on the top.
When the berries of a pie kiss each other,
each belonging to the other
and you feel them on your fork
as they land on your tongue,
and you’re not ashamed to think,
this is the best way
I ever ate a pie,
or been with you.
Kissing with our fingers,
the juice of life between us
beautiful and sweet.
You never forget something like that
no matter how often you taste it.
Like opening a window
and feeling the morning come in.
Savannah,
all sweet and good,
and loving someone
by holding hands and never letting go.