My hands were tools. They opened jars that couldn’t be opened. They constructed and tore apart. They created fine works and scrawling wrecks. They fixed cars. Carved dovetails. Caressed babies. They raised barns and laid pipe. They guided J-strokes and brush strokes. They opened gifts, wrapped gifts, and crafted gifts. They have been frost bit, snake bit, and spider bit. And they were also a team, harmonious and fluid. Strong like a black smith, savvy like a surgeon. And now the left hand is done. It is Simon without Garfunkel, different possibilities but lost music. And no reunion tour.