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Manuscript
                        for Siv Cedering
by Fran Castan

Though you are far away, death-far,
I see you close, my eye
A zoom lens focused on your hands--
Palms upturned to give or receive,
Fingers like a corps de ballet,
Devoted hands, more synecdochic
Than your trademark dimples,
Twin parts of you most like the whole--

Hands shaping your poems,
Musical scores, sculptures;
Hands offering the manuscript
You know will be your last,
While my eye, faithful copyist,
Records and saves each gesture.