Oblivion of Touch

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Oblivion of Touch

In Japan, a villager
sits on tatami mats
to gaze upon his garden
while sipping tea…
a light and grassy taste.
He contemplates the balance there
of dark green pines and granite rocks
dwarf maples…azaleas…star jasmine.
Along the edge of clay lined ponds
circling koi flash golden.
Strands of moss and pebbled paths
drift his thought to insight.

In China, a musician
on an arched stone bridge
plays his silver flute,
threading lines of melody
into misty evening.
Listeners pause errands,
hush children…cease speaking
to hear its clarity.

In ancient Hansu Museum
visitors circle ’round the statue
of a bronze-green flying horse
astride a swallow’s back.
The swallow seems alarmed
to feel the touch of hoof
upon its shoulder…
the horse gasps with sense
of flight on top of flight.

A ceramist on a wooden stool
beside a potter’s wheel
breathes earthiness
of soft white clay from Kao-Lin.
His eyes are closed.
Only his hands and mind create 
with just his sense of touch
without which is…oblivion.

Bonnie Marshall