She Takes His Hand

and stores it as her hostage.
The newness of his stump
surprises him.
He mourns the loss of his
familiar tool,
mourns
his immediate touch.

When he wakes,
he slices
the newness from his face
and goes to spend his day
under a false sun.
He leaves his smell
loitering
in the sink.

He puts his finger
under her chin
and lifts it so she
frowns at the sun.
He takes her eyes
and holds them prisoner
in his dark and dustless pocket,
where, with his one hand
he juggles them
through his fingers.