The Surgeon’s Hand
The Surgeon’s hand waits
I surrender to the unknown.
Selections to allow hands touch
Feathering skins aged architecture.
This twist in how I view my nature
We create, becoming partners.
Skin sculpting folds become clay
Softened taste of youth is all I request
Watching my mirrors truth
We will find a new definition.
Youths face lost except in spirits expression
A moment of artistry articulated
Be gentle with your hand and scalpel
I request so little, no tight draw
One last extra mile is all I want.
Your temperate touch invited
My eyes have an artist’s view
With our eyes meeting as one
A celestial paintbrush is ignited
The Surgeon’s hand becomes mine.
Dona Michelini 2014
