Hold hands with me.

My feet won’t point in the direction
I will them to, they’re on a loop
and my mind is getting dizzy.

Hold hands with me.

I’ve been watching your stride.
Your clean-limbed foot swing
mesmerizes me. How can you keep
so steady?

Please hold hands with me.

My arms are light and easy, it’s just
my legs that are stubborn, I couldn’t pull you down
if I tried—which I won’t, because

I need you to hold hands with me.

The pine needles bend beneath my
shaky knees, and the stiff-necked bark snaps
in my reaching fingers. It’ll level out, eventually,
but that’s so far away, so crystalized in my mind—

Hold hands with me.

My mind slips into the cracks between your fingers,
long and safe against mine. You fold the tips
to embrace mine, and gently, so gently
I return to myself. My own heart beat
finds me, my footfalls mirror the pulse
in my softening throat.

I am my own answer
and you, my guide.