I want to touch your hands again.
I memorized the shape of every finger;
the ones that held, fixed, carried, loved.
The hands I clutched on your last walk on this earth
after sixty years of steps
across the living room and back.
Then for two days we circled, spoke in your ear,
held those hands, wept, questioned,
and we were one—covered in your final gift.
You know the glory now, Dad,
the reward for always choosing love,
and we are bereft here
on the surface of this incendiary planet