The Hands Series

Woo! My, my, my, has it been a few tumultuous weeks since my last update. I hope you all weren't fretting I may have fallen into a time rift and was lost beyond the ramparts of this dimension. Hardly! In fact, I was on a feverish quest to find my misplaced laptop and along with it the better of my work. Yes, my poetry, my stories, my photos, my novel, all of it was almost lost. Thanks to the grace of God, a kind hearted, honest young gentleman retrieved the device and ensured its safe return to me. For those few days, however, I felt as though the foundation of my life, the very purpose of this existence, had been squandered.  
But the past is but a point of reference for the present. As I touched on earlier in my Stretch Marks post, there is an addition poetic series I have been working on called The Hands Series. The series consists of poems dedicated to the hand's of musicians (though I'm considering expanding this premise to include artists and other craftsmen).
I was inspired after attending an Eric Whitacre concert in Manhattan. I sat relatively close - close enough that I could keenly watch the motions of his hands as he conducted the choir. I was fascinated by the fluid, smokey movements of his dexterous phalanges. I immediately felt compelled to write about them. Then, as my mind was bubbling, I pondered the hands of other artists and: The series was born.
So here is the first in the series, The Conductor's Hands. The rest are soon to come. In addition, since I have not yet posted anything regarding my art, I have included a small sketch - a prelude to what is soon to come.

The Conductor’s Hands

The conductor’s hands,

Roiling like smoke, 

Lead a formless pack

Of hellhounds and turtledoves,

Rising and falling

Like cities and mountains,

Following the steady hands

As they whisk away emotions

And squander breaths.

We watch intimately

Each digit like a ballerina,

The wrists dragging the palms away

Screaming,

To cut the air into perfect

Bight sized pieces

That we gobble up

Into our ears

Starvingly.