Apotheosis

A pale green stick passed from his to mine trusting in the warmth of hands as if they were benign

I could barely feel the fragility of his touch a faint tickle only perceptible because I was looking

tiny vibrations motored the movement of his exquisite form: twig like body with legs finer than a beading needle which clung to my finger

not wanting to let go as if the plant I put him on was a foreign object and my finger was home

—Manuela Thiess