The Flame in the Hand

"Every touch lingers, even when the hand is gone."

I gather the small moments:

a breath against my shoulder,

fingers brushing mine at dusk,

the way a child’s hair smells

of cedar and rain.

✦

Love is not lost—

it clings like smoke to fabric,

it hides in the grain of wood,

it hums in the string of a forgotten guitar.

✦

I keep it in baskets woven of memory,

where no moth can devour it.

Each laugh,

each kindness,

each blessing spoken—

I braid them into a rope

that keeps me from falling.

✦

Love is the one harvest

that never dies,

only changes form,

like flame

into ash,

into warmth again.