I touch thy hand and shrink with doubt of thy
Return. The prickle in my neck tells me
To meet the hand halfway again. Ah, me!
Thy touch! Like wings upon the heat I fly.
I touch again and wonder, "How lived I
Before this truth, before this reveille?"
Beloved, I, upon a doldrum sea,
Lay sleeping 'til thy hand crept into mine.
Touch hands again that I may wake and feel
The southern wind embrace. It lifts my wings
and gives me space to view the stars. Conceal
My doubt-touch me, touch me, touch me-then bring
Me in thine arms a spell to rest, to heal,
To dream of thy touch anticipating.
My husband is a poet...Lucky me.