touch

touch is the openness 

of inward sky, ever inviting,

truth without the proposition of inquiry,

the blood of feelings 

circulating in the exchange,

a dimension richer than sensory 

ordinarily offers,

a language base 

before the use of native tongue,

where beauty is not really observational

but is deeply felt as internally evident,

where the say and the heard 

have a mutuality in passing,

where the commonness of surface

offers a graffiti 

of embodied wisdom exchanged.

touch brings busy minds 

to the stream of drink,

where thirst and replenish 

are easily crisscrossing.

touch is a horizon 

beyond the expression of night and day,

where the idiocy of self 

is exposed to surrender,

where deeper truths are realized 

beyond their ever-unspokenness.

dimensions without directedness 

regain their presence occupancy.

touch is the etheric blood of oneness 

ever the energetic in exchange,

where handshakes are passports

and embraces are countrysides 

and bodyworks are mutual stories told 

in the listening,

that are lived alive 

by what touch is saying.

and there is also the world of touch

that presents as the sacred text,

for dimensions that offer in animation 

that otherwise in self, soulfully reside. 

for a day without touch

is the comprehension of barrenness 

and the feelings that come 

from the shortness of breath . . .