Where did you learn your gentleness?
I would like to know

Dearly, I would.

Were there hands?
I hope there were kind hands.
Of dirt and branches, perhaps
And cool fog.
You wouldn’t think these hands
Could be so soft.

Were you held?
How did you learn to be held?
I hope you learn
A little more, and again,
The swish and fall
Of settling into

Warmth not your own
Though a little bit yours,

Too, rich with nearness.

Were there voices?
I hope they sang to you sometimes
And asked that you sing, too.
I hope they said
You are light, you are so light
Until you slipped and sunk

Through the coarse black
And into the grace

That resided, yours, in the deeper black.