'His Hands'

You stood with grace and took the stage
That’s when I noticed your hands
They were the most beautiful I’d ever seen
They quivered with excitement and nerves as you spoke

Long and slender, toned fingers, perfectly proportional
like the gentle branches of a weeping willow.
Ornaments littered those branches:
various sizes and shapes, they seemed to belong there,
creating an air of dramatic mystery,
one you didn’t have to act to create

Maturity exuded from the contoured base
the softness of youth traded with the depth of age.

Those hands could do anything:
Fly across the clavier
caressing the black and white keys;
Lace together to set a mood
of enthralling unspoken ideas

You yourself were strange
Different from all others’ presence
I was captivated
But even more so by your hands.