you can’t tell what my hand held out & open in outside air means, nor can you ask me since I don’t speak, you can only see — my fingers slightly bend the lines of my palm crisscross my thumb arcs at ninety degrees one half of a bridge to somewhere unexplained, my hand’s appearance alters slightly as I walk past you my open hand travels through the light of day, perhaps my toes spread wide inside my shoes perhaps my blood flows faster when every digit spreads you can’t pretend to know