page 4

The Gesture

beginning with the wrist at the heart
and returning with the wrist to the heart.

There she is making that gesture.
That graceful, slow, circular gesture.

Never again will I be ashamed
of gentleness. A gesture to everything.

Her hand sweeping like a tree-fern,
like a cello through the white room.

To those of the upright habit.
To those of the spreading habit.

To those of the slick and sordid habit.
To that fine bright line on the horizon.