Hand To Hand

Imagine making a painting
of a local pond—dark, brooding
with a cow and its keeper
with your own hands.

Imagine a man visiting a museum
in his slippers on a different continent
more than a century later,
stooped and weak from disease,

the weight of all his regretted days behind him.
He stands alone, a private moment
in this quiet gallery, his hand down by his hip
he uses it to wave goodbye.

Working With Limitations

Here is a picture I took of Andrew yesterday. His brain tumors as well as his hair are growing again and this profoundly affects his ability to write (and edit), not to mention use his left arm. But he is hanging in there after his initial shock at having yet more basic human functionality taken away.