By day I reach out and touch fingertips
of trees and plants, thank them for vital air.
By night I reach up and touch fingertips
of stars, praise their silent songs. I compare
them to candlelight, their sacred vespers
of spirit. Always within day and night
I touch your fingertips, utter whispers
of thanks for you. If I find you in sight
or not, I do this. Your fingertips pressed
soft to mine seem to define existence,
express through our universe all that’s blessed.
Our fingertips preparing food, presence
of life’s continuum, feel earth’s command
to love all through flexing our gentle hands.
Roger Armbrust
August 3, 2014
