The Calligraphy Of Your Hands Poem by Mark Heathcote

The calligraphy of your hands soothes my aches and pains
I am transported - at once to tranquil waters.
The rushing of life is no more,
I am the emulsions of a moon moth dancing,
flapping its wings in waves of musical dust.
I am the small steps sediments make gazing up at the stars
taking my rightful place in the universe, the cosmos.
I am the first time, a rounded pearl without imperfections
took shape, closing my eyes, I am at peace
on this branch of darkness
unfolding-into-a-wonderful magnolia flower, sensing
the honey in the hive as a form of collective dew.
I must become sweet-and-cloying. The taste of this honey
that is now wrapping itself around my tongue
in whispers, only a divine-tuning folk can harmonically speak.