How Beautiful the Hands

She sings with her fingers,
Silent poetry, slicing and carving the air,
Hands fluttering like a bird.
Announcing in a gesture, proclaiming without a sound
The thunderous majesty of our King.

In this borrowed language of motion,
She dips and she raises her hands up in praise.
Sustaining a gesture, repeating one twice.

A caress for her Father,
She offers her hands as music
To those who linger in silence.

When the Lord seems quiet,
When I pray for His voice,
He is faithful to answer:
He gives me a sign.