Skin Song

Your tiny hands
fell so gently into
the hollow of mine;
cupped open
as they were
to receive them.

Your warm tan skin
into my light-orange pink.
Your puffy hands of
childhood, into my weathered
hands of mid-life.

No signs of anything
here other than father
and son. Hands on
hands, color upon

color, heart in heart.

I do not know
where I learned

that color
is just a sign of variety;

and difference
a variegation of wonder. 

That shades

are the songs

skin sings for us

to warm our hearts

and give us depth.

Songs that give

us freedom to

be our own dappled selves.

I will do my best

my son,

to help others to learn 

the same;

for what I see in this

world of adults

is not what I long for

you to know.

Your tiny hands
fell so gently into
the hollow of mine;
cupped open
as they were
to receive them.

Your warm tan skin
into my light-orange pink.
Your puffy hands of
childhood, into my weathered
hands of mid-life.

No signs of anything
here other than father
and son. Hands on
hands, color upon

color, heart in heart.

You in me,

and me,

me also in you.