No Talent For Certainty

my fingers lightly trace the shape
of sun-washed shoulders as you lay
upon a towel beside a summer lake

your eyes are closed your head upon
your hands and you are murmuring
and i cannot say how long it will take

for me to show you how i feel
to transmit through these fingers all
or most of what you mean to me
or just how deep how precious

my fingers stop on browning skin
the distant sounds turn nearly still
and love reflects both sunlight and

this ache