You’ll remember my hands

Like light growing on snow.
Later you will say

You’ve grown to appreciate
Things you hadn’t planned for,

That allowing yourself time to notice
Took the sting out of patience.

A customer lifting a glass
Or shuffling silverware,

Nothing to help you anticipate,
No warning to let you know

They’d be coming home to your body.
For days you chide yourself

For not recognizing sooner
But how could you

See doves flying toward you
And tell they were yours.