My fingers are my eyes in the darkness, even though I have have the gift of sight.
They're more than that...
With my fingers, I can see hot and cold, I can see the wind, I can see inside you as I feed you pleasure.
With my fingers, I can bring metamorphosis to a shapeless ball of clay, I can feel your heart giving you life, I can wipe the tears from your eyes.
With my fingers, I gave shape to these words.
Turning these thoughts into objects
As I sit here my fingers are turning these thoughts into objects. Objects that can be created, modified, destroyed -- appreciated, or not. As I ponder the above two lines, my fingers flip a small object over and over. How does this happen? How does a little girl twirl a baton? How does one play a guitar or a piano? Like the rest of the human form, fingers are amazing.