In the Palm of our Hands Ghazal

Join me, my wonder, palm to palm

a walk in the wind with me under palms

or pines or firs, such mercy skin

to skin, a thirst holding fingers and palms

our rhythm, our breathing. Walk with me

through ribbon grass and leaves palm

to palm before you eyelash me, flash me

your blue-eyed smile. Feel it in your palm

when crunching gravel, balancing on logs—

come walk with me. Feel the quiver in palms

that slide above the forest floor, our music

our silent hymns. The wind is your warm palm

when you’re not here. The bulge of wind

muscle-tough, tender-smooth in the palm

of your hand and my hand: we are walking,

talking, making love palm to palm.

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John Davis is the author of Gigs, Guard the Dead and The Reservist. His work has appeared in DMQ Review, Iron Horse Literary Review and Terrain.org. He lives on an island in the Salish Sea and performs in several bands.