The Hand of a Friend

It's only a hand in the darkness,
But this hand wears the scent of a friend.
It steals across me at 3 a.m.,
Brushing the dream-drawn tear from my cheek.

It's only a hand in the darkness,
But it is connected to a strong arm that defends,
A solid shoulder that supports,
A heart that loves, opens, knows, accepts.

It's only a hand in the darkness,
But I pull the arm tightly around me,
Press into the shoulder, curl against the heart,
And clutch the hand as if a lifeline.

This hand brings love, and opens a way
Others may follow, at 3 a.m. on other nights.
This hand is the hand of a friend,
And brings the strength . . . to think about it.






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Two and a half years later, my dear best friend, I have not forgotten.
I love you, and I thank you, for all you are and all you have done.
Because of you, today I can love her, and she is healthy.
Because of you, today I can love myself.

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