Little words that drift across the wind
not with the wind
not without the wind
but across it
like this: I have somewhere to be
I have someone to be.

Careful hands that only touch precisely
spidery and shaking
strong and thin
rubbed raw
they belong to him: his touch
like the sharpness of a gunshot
covered in edges.

Aching hearts that tangle together
some way that can't be understood
dragged close
and reaching out
both at once
a rather calm hymn that settles his soul
a brother in his hands
a friend in his voice
a song: quiet, cautious, thin, trim
a rather calm, him.