you can’t tell what my hand
held out & open in outside air
means, nor can you ask me
since I don’t speak, you can only
see — my fingers slightly bend
the lines of my palm crisscross
my thumb arcs at ninety degrees
one half of a bridge to somewhere
unexplained, my hand’s appearance
alters slightly as I walk past you
my open hand travels through
the light of day, perhaps my toes
spread wide inside my shoes
perhaps my blood flows
faster when every digit spreads
you can’t pretend to know
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