and your hands warm always.
may your eyes flutter closed so that you may sleep
or may they look into the sun and drain like wells
into your lap and down the inside of your legs.
may your tears then tickle your toes (because i pray
that you are barefoot on a beach when this happens)
and may your hair grow hopefully, and longingly yearn
for the wisdom in your hips ( a lyre )( a distant groan,
from the sea's seam )( a rhetorical hymn howlin')
may the dead skin collected by your fingertips
taste exactly like where you have been
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