Untitled Poem

you filled my hands weightlessly

baby lettuces after misty rain

soft leaves flickering

cool flames against my palms

my fingers

a light cage catching

your moth wings

I peeked, hesitant

here is the church

here is the steeple

open the doors

Wrote this today... a bit raw, but a nice nugget.  Probably fictional, if I could quite figure out what I'm saying, but I haven't really gotten that far.  The sounds, sensations and the image of delicate spring lettuce leaves, and then gentle hands, carried me.