Converse into my eyes, into my face.
Dramatize your eyes and mouth
and furrowed brow so I know what
you ask and I see how you feel.
Make hand puppets into my dancing
space and I think your hands are like art,
like fingerpaints. Colors like red and pink
and green and gray. Mix your colors
and my eyes won’t leave your covered
canvas. The world should come to see
your museum and not-so-famous paintings,
just the ones I love. Don’t look down,
but embrace the beauty you bring
to the world and the poems you create
in midair. Spell it out for the rest of us
who aren’t so lucky to learn
your appreciation through vast vibrations.
The majority feels nothing move,
but the music encompasses and inhabits
your soul, and I see your toes tap.
Decorate my world and open my eyes
so we can open our eyes and twist
our fingers and learn
your digit-stroked story.