"A hand specialist. I have scars on my hands from touching certain people."
Entry from Seymour's diary, Raise High the Roof Beams, Carpenters—J. D. Salinger
"Lay its head on summer’s freckled knees."
"Don't Carry It All," The King Is Dead—The Decemberists
he could trace the faint freckles
trailing across her thigh & knee
intercession with his fingertip
in the dark or with his eyes closed
on the table top when she wasn't there
a silent humming with his hand
& while tracing her constellation
over laminated wood or in the air
he could smell her springtime memory
with the ache blossoming in him like a hymn
as tracing spun to mantra yellow as pollen
this inverted laying of hungry hands
(touching her healed him leaving
invisible scars across his palms)
while he cried to songs reminding him of her—
he will never pause this ceaseless supplication
of tracing tracing tracing. . .