Touch

I'm surprised by what touch does.
Reaching out, or just
happening,
or something big, on purpose,
somehow it says more than language ever will,
and knows something more than a rush of
rationality.

They say
"this touches me".

It goes further, like fingers hunting a
hunger of knowing.

My body has never discovered itself,
it's a demanding and selfish island
that refuses to exist for
any one and especially any
order.

When you touch on purpose,
that's special.
And the meaning behind it carries on so
far, you won't guess.

I know about beauty that you see, hear, and smell
in the mornings of rain reaching deep into our earth:
but when drops touch, and tell secrets into
places that wait for  purpose,

that's where we arise.
Let's walk out onto this
loch.
It's about longing, isn't it?
How far do you think it
stretches out?