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