TALK TO THE HAND

Silent conversation.  The body tells a story
From a to being here.
The mouth mimes, sings a song without words
Tells a story, utter silence.
The hands move in rapid succession
Pointing to the script of the body,
In this order
A dance, every conversation is an artful dance
Choreographed delicately, thoughtfully
The subtle intonations, I am at a loss
The luxury of being heard in a crowd,
In a noisy café.  I see what you mean
You need not raise the bar of your motions
The poetic diction of one's expression
Words fall short.
Reading people is not my forte
But I know
the spoken word is inadequate.
(The written word cannot be spoken with adequate feeling)

There is something beautiful in this poetic motion
The graceful angelic movement
The definitive symbols, truth.  An honest hand.
The body as a stone tablet
You know my actions
And I would know thine
But my body betrays me
Eyes window to the soul,
To you, I'm made of nothing but glass
To everyone else, a rock.