All I know

The way your fingertips alight in tender majesty like a descending egret, feathers summoning a scene incomplete until this stroke of white. I’m no scientist, but I say that if you look closely enough you can see the branch lift almost imperceptibly to meet it, the marsh beneath stirs, then quiets, the reeds part slightly in respect. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. All I know is that when you touch me, I remember to breathe.

Photo by Vincent van Zalinge on Unsplash