The hand kept at its drum,
quaking the entire church hall
it seemed. I scowled left
to give a hint, but this
to no avail. For me it was
only sober day five,
 
and my own hand shot out at his,
stilling its chair rap. At once
I was stunned by my action.
Eyes in the circle homed in
to the site of touch
and I wanted to use right then.
 
But this was not the hand
of a child being disciplined.
It neither cowered nor shook free.
It held my own in embrace
the whole meeting through,
and I spoke for the first time.