Take My Hand, My Whole Life
Under the moon, the moon we watched grow
from orange to snow as it climbed into black,
one of us took the hand of the other—
the whole life of the other into her hand.
Below that full moon, through the touch
of palm skin to palm skin persisting
through the shore walk, through the lapping
or crashing of waves—although I remember
no sound—through these the sand or the Atlantic
or maybe the spring sky computed an integral,
a fundamental operation of lunar calculus
that sync-ed aortic phases of once-distinct orbits.
Author: Pamela Hobart Carter
Photo: Katie Drazdauskaite on Unsplash
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