Bright the sky, it timeless bates
Twinkling blue upon the eye
A silent pause, a breath that waits
A fervent plea cannot belie
To see the stars
And feel the light
The leaf that spins
The birds in flight
Of pencil dust and sealing wax
Rhapsody cut to just two acts
A life too short for pages long
A note too brief for mother’s song
Before these glazed and callow eyes
How the storied pages turn
Too long it took to realize
The clock does spin, my heart does yearn
For crystal castles in the snow
Fate can make the water flow
And melt what surely could have been
Reflecting tears of our within
‘Cause, you see, our clocks were set
Two stories plumbed
By fearsome hand
Though we feign to ne’re forget
It’s not for us to understand
How it comes we know not where
The end comes swift
The threads laid bare
Poor men, sinners, Jane and Joe
Left to ponder, never know
The touch will let the soul unbear
Chains of riddle
Strains of care
Finally free to be “the we”
A manifest of destiny
The touch, refulgent spark of thought
A fleeting chance to bring to naught
The question of this thing “to be”
To reach beyond the subtlety
Of me
The leaves now still
The birds aloft
Above death’s grace
In moonlight soft
The specks of blue
Within old gems
Infixed in stone
Like diadems
Above the words:
“Until we touch, again.”
The Touch
© 2022 Bob Lee
