Monday, May 5, 2008


Encircling and colliding
Around a me and a you

That’s what they do

I learn to love these loves
Love their gifts
Simple in their surprises
Love their impossibilities
Which are never truly revealed
Love their wordlessness
Even their meaninglessness
I learn to love these loves
For they are just a touch
Pure touch
And only touch
A touch across mountains
Across seas
Across rooms
Across differences

Through the wetness of the sand
Through the crispness of a snowdrift
Through the mystery of the eye
Through the honesty of the hand
Through the excess of a digitizing universe
Dissolving the flesh of words
(For that is what living words can only be)
Into ten million pieces which
Reappear congeal re-form
In unseen places
A resurrection is confirmed
Through fingertips on plastic

Fingertips on fingertips
Lips to cheek
Palms warm and comforting
The touch of a friend
Of a lover
Of no category
A touch undefined

A touch of something lost
No completion

The touch of a child’s hand
My own child
Holding my arm in utter confidence
But we know
And dare not say
That one day even this touch will cease
Or will it?
Yes No
I will postpone the tears

But what presumption
I am a fool
Tears arrive
For in this very moment
My arm is still held
The confidence is still palpable
In the memories and dreams of this night

A joy
An indescribable joy
(Joy can never be described)
Touches upon the shoulder
Tenderly like the moon upon the sea
For that is what a touch is
Our loves our joys must be
Can only be

A brushing-over
A lingering

There is no grasping
In such a touch

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