Raymond A. Foss Poems

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He may have done it, almost unconsciously,
a natural gesture, an instinctive act
I just happened to be there, in the edge
the church’s hallway, witness only
to the familiar touch
He walked around the corner,
the wooden cubicles
of the preschool beside him
His knowing, weathered, old hands
touching the wood, feeling the varnish,
the chipped wood, the tiny splinters
at the outer edge of the maple, the veneer
the pine. Knowing hands of the carpenter
communing with the wood
walking down the hallway

February 24, 2008

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