You take my hand shyly, for the first time, and our heated joy fills heaven and earth; the trees around us are laughing: their branches blush with us, pink and red blossoms; their bright leaves quiver radiant green, sparkle madly in sunlight.

****

We touch hands in darkness, not watching the film; we explore contours of fingers, topography of palms. We are children again, feeling for lifelines, learning curves of another’s wrist, locating elbow creases.

****

Hands together, we stand for a moment at the shoreline of the beach, and then break into a run. Hands locked, we run in perfect synchronization, laughing like children on a lark. With full hearts we run, knowing that nothing can stop us, nothing can separate us, and that with each step we grow wings.

****

I give you my hand – it is all of me that is free; I am sandwiched between two halves of a machine; technicians stand nearby. You speak to me as they move about us, your voice soothing and sonorous as a clear flowing stream, your hand clutching mine as if to never let go. 

*****

Deep in the night we clasp hands. We are swimming in ether, spinning out moonbeams. We are floating, turning east, west, and back again. Halves of a parted whole, seamlessly we recombine, gliding in air. Our souls shimmer silvery-white, dance in dazzling combination.  Our hands hold the other’s heart, seal our eternal pledge.

(excerpt from “Whitegate,” published by Liz M. Weiman © 2000)