Palm of my Hand

PALM OF MY HAND

Do you remember the night
I told you
That your underbrush
Was as familiar to me
As the palm of my hand?

But could I really sketch from memory
My hand's Head, Heart and Life Lines?
And how many little creases 
Run across my left hand's Mount of Venus?

Like an alien language
Like the back side of the Moon
Like your underbrush
And quantum reality:
Each as much a mystery
As the palm of my hand.