What I have really touched

What have my hands actually touched?
A girl’s broken ankle at sunset, was best
Or most real yesterday, I think. Her feet smelled like perfume from France.
A cat too lame to make it across the road
And had to be picked up, slowly, as cats do-but knowing her name, by instinct.
Felt like a touch or tag at least.

a sketch pad, a back pocket bible and a crayon–enough to save a life or two, I’m sure.
A sunset in a canyon too gorgeous to name now-but
My eyes only touched her.-still it felt that real.
The rest I did. Lots of slaps on many backs.
A man off a bridge in Paris, and few held dead body’s hands
As 911 became an icon.
Every time I touched something, in Love.
That’s what I knew. Or, What I really touched.
Lots of soil and blood, and people’s eyes as they passed
In closing….I suppose
That’s what I really touched.
I mean, what I loved well.

What have you actually touched?

your hands must remember.