Cole Swensen

The Hand that Caresses
                                                  after Alphonso Lingis

                                  Glean sheet
that is soft and sees
gliding just above the surface
constructs a second skin of close attention
                                                                                  The hand cannot tire in the face
of another, a hand floats or hovers
detached from the wrist, my hand fits your face precisely What recognizes
the suffering of the other is a movement in one's hand. The man on the balcony
reaches out to point at the plane coming in to land.

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The Hand as Harbor

That would be the holding hand
                                                      so I'll stay here. And of the trees
full forth on the sea, a hand is every one. And while we're planning the future

A vague starfish watermarked into the letter, a starfish burning on the window.
For every ship that went down, they'd speak of the hands--"All hands on deck"
and "All hands were lost." "I made a ghost of all my hands" watching
the walls rock, we'd read the lists in the morning paper.

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