Eye, burin, hand

Of all the senses
touch is the most productive
it's not that the other senses
don't make passion rise
after all
people do communicate with their eyes
and we know about pheromones
that attract us without any noticeable scent
and to which even a bull moose yields

and taste is obvious
in the pleasure it gives
and there is something betwitching
in the sound of a voice
but touch
is the master sense
hearing
and sight and smell
and taste
draw us to the fruit
but touch lets us dig our fingers in
greedy for surrenders
as unconditional as the fruit
or any other truth
or aim worth pursuing

stopping in Stockholm
on a bright Summer's day
I saw a poster on the wall
inside the post office
which read
Eye, burin, hand
the photograph
on which the slogan
was printed showed
an engraver etching
a plate
with the design
of a new stamp

natives and Buddhists
potters and painters
sculptors and crafters of tales
all say when you touch the earth
or a product of its making
she touches you back
and in such handholding
magic makes its way
lively and sweetly
into the world
in the spring of a step
or the bounce of an arm
or the firmness of fingers
not yet ready to give up their task

I watched a portraitist
sketching
with charcoal and pastel
and little glimpses
refusing to make
eye contact
or noticing beauty
or anything similarly disarming
as the subject
returning her glance

with deft and furtive strokes
she took the measure
of cheeks and chin
hair and eyes
and when she was finished
she barely smiled
as if bewitched
by the easiness of the part
in her subject's hair
or the cut and fold of her dress
or her wild and searching eyes
or the smile that rushed
like blush to the whiteness of her face
and gave her teeth once again

and so without worship words
or promises made
or promises kept
witchcraft is tested
without recrimination or bitterness
entering on cat's feet
and leaving with a quick about face
and a mere flick
of a tail