When I Touched You With Fingers Poem by gershon hepner

When I touched you with fingers the words that I added
seemed destined to raise you above
the world we inhabited, crowded and madded,
to the limbo we landed on, love.

Now I touch you with words, you no longer respond;
if I touched you with fingers could I
erect you again to the back of beyond,
a level that made us feel high?

Though the snows that have melted will fall once again
if we wait for the winter, my fingers
can type day and night but not feel in the fen
your digital touch without stingers.

Yet I’ll wait, for my fingers, though cramped, tell my brain:
Do not worry, just write and enjoy
the memory of what is no more––don’t complain
that Helen is happy in Troy.

5/22/08