ANOTHER'S TOUCH

I reach out my hand

from the earth of my body

to touch the sentience 

of the world.

When it meets me

as the bark of oak

or the wet and cold

of the shimmering lake

I feel myself met, touched

by another’s touch.

It takes slowing down 

to know this, to feel this:

that the Earth is a presence

always awake, watching, and listening.

It takes slowing down

to remember that

I am the one

who forgets that

the Earth sees me, that it never

looks away, never blinks.

That it never stops 

threading my name

or yours

through birdsong, 

the whispers of leaves,

or the rippling waters.