Here is your left hand of intuition,
receptive as the earth in spring.
Feel the palm, open as the door
of a hospitable house, each fingertip
conversing at the threshold between bodies
like a farmwife choosing summer peaches,
gentle and knowing – the thoughtful perusal
of the delicate fruit.
Your left hand hears the story,
charts the map, sighs and murmurs,
“Yes, the scars are here and here,
the knot of raw emotion bound
in silken flesh, the dragon-scale of armor
stalwart against the fray.”
Your left hand is a seer.
Here is your right hand of power,
aflame with healing fire.
Feel the palm, open as the glowing eye
of some fierce maelstrom, each fingertip
a conduit of Divine light.
A universe of abundance rushes forth,
galvanized by love and the selfless
act of touch, one skin to another
in peaceful communion.
Your right hand opens space for radiance to enter,
a key to the locked body that turns sweetly.
Your right hand is an avatar.
Here are your hands,
hot with purpose, wreathed in light,
the shadow of phoenix wings upon
the body that will rise up strong and whole
from the ashes of its pain.
e.yon/2006, written in honor of the healing work of massage therapists and bodyworkers