& plunging from transbay tube into the unwashed light of the west oakland station, i notice your hands first. sorry — only. i only notice your hands shedding the black gloves, plum veins mapping forefinger to ring, knuckle & valley. harbinger of queer desire, i will later learn, total gay cliché: this fascination with hands, their poetry & precision, all they can do. there is so much to learn later. for now, it is a calm blue afternoon & neither of us has reached our stop yet, & i am in love with the tethered flight of these hands, perfect birds, catching the sun in their wings.