Mainspring

The hands of my child hold warm,

A joined fluttering clasp

Full with humming bird thrums.

What eager tale is formed

By these soft scurry-touches?

A feather tactility

Dancing past my life-line

Deftly brushing the creases

Of my rough curled fingers?

Instinct directs a firm grasp,

To transmit strength of love

Through a Morse code of squeezes -

This tiny sketch of flesh flies

Gone exploring and glad

To be free of cages.

Curious child, finder

Now show to me your marvels:

(You are worse than a magpie!) –

Dandelions and pebbles,

Grass blades, grey feathers and twigs.

My spread palms will be your

Happy inventory table.

When you zephyr about,

My heart is drawn after.

I might only feel whole

When I enfold your hand.