Unthinking Hands

Keys jangle in my half-lit hand,

fingers smooth over metal worn by time.

The lock catches before I see it,

a dance my brain forgets to watch.

The door swings wide with a sigh,

my body remembering what my mind missed.

Late night, quiet streets, the stumble home—

a rhythm written beneath thought’s loud hum.

Muscle memory carries me past

where words would slow me down,

and I am both lost and found

in the way my hands move blind.