Thursday, November 08, 2007
My clever eye can pick out the finest detail, soak in the glory of a sinking sun, watch the minutes of our short lives tick by, but it can't see the last dying breath of summer.
My hands can touch the beauty of your skin, stroke the head that lays in my lap, but they cannot hold a moment, nor touch the smell of new born baby's head.
My ear can hear music that brings me to my knees, listen to stories that reach into my core, but I cannot hear the hairs that raise in response to poetry that touches my heart.
My mouth can taste the dew on a morning strawberry, hold your salted sweat on the tip of my tongue, but will not let me sample the sweetness of innocent love or the wickedness of arousal.
I can smell the the crush of pine underfoot and hot skin in summer but I cannot smell the perfume (or stench) of humanity.
Thanks then to my soul, a finely woven butterfly net that captures all. If I wield it with thoughtfulness, learn from its lessons and use it wisely, then it will serve me well.