Making Snow Skin Mooncakes

Here are my palms, dusted 
with flour, meeting the skin of dough 

protected in a film of oil. I am supposed 
to weigh each piece for consistency,

which means a condition one can count on, 
as well as the texture and heft of a thing. 

Even as I fill each mold with a ball of sweet
custard, the skin waits to completely enrobe it.

I pinch the seams together and tuck them 
under, then push gently with my fingers.

Each face holds against the stamp only a firm
moment—wound, brand, letter to the future.