made of water

Because I miss your hands,
as delicate and shy
and difficult to touch
as quick fish that glide
glittering like dreams
in their own other world,
and miss them, still,
so much, my slippery
absence, my bright twin,
I have begun praying
that my hands
be made again
and made of water
that need not clutch
to hold, nor hold
to know.


[William Pitt Root]