Touch
I touch,
yet ripples move
beyond my grasp.
They are,
yet none
precede the flow.
Ere long
the sheen's
restored to glass.
Yet still
I rest
and think I know.
All changes:
Others come and go
and touch
and grow —
together on
we flow
and touch each other.
Until the end
when One
who can and loves,
will touch
to make a sea of glass.
- Joseph F. Buchanan, August 2008
[ up to this point unpublished ]
