Your Hand My Hand

Your Hand My HandYour hand
my hand
and then the trees.

Can we fly
with the wind
dancing in my hair,
the sounds of summer
so close?

Laughing breath
and jungle gyms and woodchips
in your pocket.

Let’s lay down with
your hand against mine
and rock below the sky.

Your hand,
my hand.

– Ella Jaz Kirk, 2014

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