He underestimates its importance,
the touch of him on the skull
the patting and the scratch.
But he can be so blase
with that effortless speaking
which tumbles out like silk
Whereas I am a dumb angel
braying and bawling
the uncomprehending hark
How is it he does not know
how beautiful he is
the endless kisses I wipe him with
When he and I are one
it is as if I could live forever
as famous as the night
He is the running rabbit of peace
When his heart beats
my own beats twice
Mike Finley
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-master-s-hand/
