The touch

composed shortly after the previous poem...an ode to musicians

Their fingers touched, he saw his face
Eons ago, in a forgotten place
Where the made for the first time, laid eyes on the maker
That sacred moment immortalized, on the walls of a cathedral

The musician’s fingers played, the audience sits enraptured
Lost in childlike wonder, our souls in sweet surrender
Today in a place, in a fallen but not forgotten land
Our fingers touched again, the maker’s forgiving hand

The touch