Snug

".....It is a good thing for a man not to touch a woman." ---I Cor. 7:1

Her hand, shrunk wrinkled, filled full my hand,
Snug but there still. It was a branch I had

But a branch just the same. It meant that more
Of her presence grew nearby. This was no mere

Twig I held but the ghost of a chance made flesh
This once. The film of dew that cooled between made fresh

The palms it joined that were used to being used
For filling and grasping vain gaps in foggy ideals;

Some of the wet still clung when we pulled us apart
To walk unled by the other's touch. Was this the start

Of a fitting end or something more open? We would have loved
To pocket these closing hours while they still lived

For us; we had hoped that the night air would hold its breath
And leave the rest of the earth unstirred, unearthed,

In the dark, while we let cares give way to care this late.
But the street lamp we met who asked for a light

Stabbed and pierced and mugged us instead,
Flooding the spot where we left the dead

Of our lives, unstopping our pod of what's sure
And unsure. And in the light of this glare,
Our shades became all theirs to share.

by Lee Kin Mun
aka mr brown
August 1987.
(Copyright 1987)