I reach back for the day
A conversation, many really
Of men of the spirit
Strangers at a table
One probes and provokes
The others listen, absorb, respond
Opinions of individual truth and personal reality
The irony of agreement and rejection

I feel beneath the angry skies of the season
A glimmer of acceptance
And a notion of a glimpse
The stimulation of minds
That shows how little I know, the access
That touch of the divine
The opening of a grand doorway
The scrape of the sole of the soul
Reaching a hand around a dark corner
Blind to connection, slight tactile vision
The graze of a fingertip wishing to hold
Able to push, not hold
Touch, not control
The passion to reach, binding limbs, numbing digits
The struggle

And for a moment, content with the contact
That faith is necessary.