Hold this hand

calloused, tired

and grasping,

grasping

at this hard air

slipping through fingers

that want to hold on

onto anything

anything

that feels real.

They catch nothing,

hold nothing,

hold nothing I want

to keep.

So catch me

catch me, as I drift

without tether.

Turn my face

so my eyes

meet yours.

The beginning of me

being found.

—jennifer j. camp