Look how beautiful
It is, when palm supports palm,
And fingers caress fingers.
How straight are those palms in togetherness.
And those assemblies of palms, like lovers,
Slip and glide on each other
At the dead heat of the night
Opposite a lighted candle thread,
In interfaces which form and denature
Every passing day, almost
Like the flow and ebb of newly weds
On a marriage bed. And prayer
Just like love, becomes a sanctum,
Extrapolated beyond measurable thresholds
Fragility translated to strength,
In that candle-lit moment
Where man ends, and God begins.