Statistics from Altmetric.com
I watch your eyes tracing my face.
Furrowed brows suggest blurred image.
Slow, slow, not in haste—
Mine is a forgotten visage,
Erased like tales of the village,
You fondly shared, from where you came.
I watch your eyes tracing my face,
And pray you will recall my name.
Your calloused hands will think of mine:
“We have held these some other place!”
The embers of your past will flame—
And I will hear and help to heal,
Waiting for signal or for sign.
Slow, slow, with hands to feel—
As I carry onward, blind,
Hoping that which I seek, I find.
Competing interests None declared.
Provenance and peer review Not commissioned; internally peer reviewed.
If you wish to reuse any or all of this article please use the link below which will take you to the Copyright Clearance Center’s RightsLink service. You will be able to get a quick price and instant permission to reuse the content in many different ways.