I can remember how soft you felt 
Loose skin... Like it was going to melt
Dark marks where old age had kissed your hands 

Strong firm in your hold... Still the youthfulness when you held me in your mold
Patterns on your nails beds of the dryness in your hands

Lines telling stories of touch untold 
Grains embedded in from the things you hold 
The weathering brown marks of the sun on your hands

"Here's the church
There's the steeple 
Look inside
There's the people "

The movement, the touch, the feel of your hands engrained in my mind from when I was a child