for Hansie

I’ve often wondered about the

soft rumble that occurs when you laugh

washing you now I understand

it's been there all along

the stone

made smooth inside you

rolling around

gathering love from your corners

you quietly present it to me

almost as if

it were nothing

I gently soap your head

in the way that I think might feel best

cool water runs to the floor

Is there a song in my fingers?

Is that pressure ok?

^{Footnote: this poem was created using the Dreams or memories constraint as the starting point.}