Hands

They go about their day

Touching the past

Caressing the air of fragrances

The bright sunny days

Pushed away

Along with many joyous years of light

Pouring the favorite red wine

Now but for one glass atop the table

Time waved away

As if it once celebratory confetti

In a lady’s hair

Now blowing into the unknown

Such hands

Wary

Fatigued

Now arching their fingers

Finding

 Bartok’s

Music for Strings

Percussion

Celeste

And…

Sorrow