CATCHING LIGHT

Naked hands
glide through
the length of a
spontaneous massage.

Hands that go into the cruxt
of lost passions,
currents reconnected
in a synergy
of tender pushing.

Down the spine,
up the arms,
each birdsong
in the collar-bone.

In the afternoon light
of deep blue wildness,

hands, naked hands pull
each strand
of the eternal nimbus

like a sudden burst of laughter,

catching light at the top of the head.

by Tony Vaughan