Hands shall heal
and create.
You, with your wand
of a brush
with each stroke
you honor
the legacy left by
your mother
and how every sunset
was a palette of
her choosing.

You with your lenses
shooting moments
into stars that come
flying back into
souls breathing life
for one another.
Raising lifetimes
from the dead.

You with fire
from your hands
in the youth of your days
growing beyond words|
that speak to you still
in ways you still have yet to

You, with healing hands
rising kundalini
from the tips of your fingers
shaking the ground
rooting pain back into the earth.

You, casting spells
in the simplest of movements
brushing trees
tying shoes
shifting gaze
under moonlit night
writing our names
together in the stars.

And we,
magic and all
create with nothing more
than the impulse of survival
finding along the way
that hands can heal
and our beauty can shine
illuminating the darkness.


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