Their Handshake
These are not men who shy from touch
but often, at ease and in defense,
stand side by each.
From roaring play and gentle attendance,
they've learned each other's frame complete.
But this communion stands apart;
its tenderness is in the perfection of the fit.
No pale formality,
it is a rope's end to a sinking man,
reinforcements to a fort besieged.
One hand outstretched
finds (always) its mirror hand in answer.
The grip is never weak or brief
—the reach no way exceeds the grasp
it speaks the words they'd never speak:
Anchor me.
Anchor this.
Anchor us.
