Dedicated to Margaret Menamin who passed away June 3, 2009
Where touch ends, its music plays on like the light on a surface of water that bends at first glance - then appears to be gone where touch ends.
I have friends, though I'm often alone. They’re like sail boats that sift on a lake of soft winds. Touch reaches toward words whispered clear to the bone that my hands may not grasp, though a yearning descends.
And loneliness – sometimes it sends my needy heart searching for sun where touch ends.