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& plunging from transbay
tube into the unwashed light
of the west oakland station, i
notice her hands first. no —
only. i only notice her hands
shedding the black gloves,
plum veins mapping
forefinger to ring, knuckle &
valley. harbinger of queer
desire, i will later learn, total
gay cliché: this fascination
with hands, their poetry &
precision, all they can do.
there is so much to learn later.
for now, it is a calm blue
afternoon & neither of us has
reached our stop yet, & i am
in love with the tethered flight
of these hands, perfect birds,
catching the sun in their
wings.