She Took My Hand Poem by Clive Culverhouse

look at my hands, they're not
the hands of a fisherman
they're not the hands of a carpenter
look at my hands and tell me
how many miles do you feel
across deserts and plains, they're not
the plains of a hunter
they're not the deserts of a fleer
for days and nights of wandering, no,
look at my hands, they're the
hands of a poet, they're the
hands of an observer
a connector of concepts
I have the hands
of a moment with you