An interlace of hands across the endless divide bring a foreign smile to a face who thought their lips had died. One hand in another a like in kind but not in thought as both hold different memories of what each finger's cupped.
Hands hold life and death in the cradle of a palm turning sickness into health and pulls the crawling soldier on. Nails can claw their way to blood and grips destruction, hewn. But for now, they hold each other for every hand has room
to hold another close to one, to save it's owner from itself though the mind might not comprehend the turning, twisting finger shelf on which pulse depends