"Missing Her" - Tara Timpson

I think of her in a place of dreaming
I want her story, I want an end to the long search for her
I want her theology–to abandon the study of soft tracks and partial
prints for fullness

Touch my throat, the lack of her hard to swallow
Touch my eyes, tears of angry indignation at inequality
Touch my hands, molding them from fists into open palms ready to
receive her
Touch my neck and shoulders, bearing the burden of missing her

Could I see the curve of her wrist, her shapely fingers?
As Jared once saw the holy finger touching the clear stones
I offer the stone of my heart to her touch


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