Daylight, unforgiving and true,

caught my hands at ease, flat,

unflatteringly flat, upon my knees.

Loosely applied over blue-veined

rivers and tendon ridges, a pliant

skin reveals a history of scars:

puckered, punctured stars, sliced

crescents, rude tears and gouges

all ungulate in a lighter hue over

blue-veined rivers and tendon ridges.

A skinscape of a crazed topographer;

a delineation of years of labor,

of incidences with sharp edges,

of inabilities, and worst, inattention,

of flailing arms and careless hands;

hands with slender fingers

better spread across opened pages

gently tapping, counting, calling out the joy.