amputated imaginings

i stretch the tired
muscles
in my shoulders
arching the reach
of bones
forward--
as if that--
they--
were the only
arms
i have
i had--
i notice
the glory
of holding
the pen
aloft.

if i lost
these hands--
i would
carry it
in my teeth
dancing--
still and forever
across the
open book
of waiting
white
page.