With a Gentle Hand
Ignored wounds
do not bleed at once,
but when touched for cure
they ache longer than they should,
reminding us how silence gathers dust
inside the body.
It is not that love is feared,
only that sometimes
its arrival feels unnecessary
like an extra flame
in a room already warm.
Still, a newborn’s breath
teaches another language of affection,
a fragile trust resting
in the hollow of two palms.
Love moves gently,
care bends like grass in wind,
affection lingers in corners
where no one thought to look.
And the hands--
they rise as sky,
they fold as umbrella,
they open as shelter.
One gesture,
a thousand meanings,
all carrying us
a little further away from hurt.
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