Out of touch

Spend the deepest of days sinking
the darkest of nights thinking
upon blinking planets at towering heights
The world is ours but the moon and stars
remind me that everything we wish to hold and touch
isn’t always in our grips and sights

Like ice in the clutches of summertime heat
I feast upon the urgency of the relief that I breathe

Reading the veins of their movements like palms
Touching only the darkness upon surfaces
to dig up the burning heat of alarm

I am charmed by what I don’t know
by what I can’t hold
by young and old, by the colorful and cold
By everything that I can clearly see
of which I am not told

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