Pulse

My hand, his palm twinned,

firmly pressing skin to skin.

Electronic twinge

tap

tap

tapping.

Repetitive reminder

of his waning existence,

pulse persistent, resistant

to attempts to distance,

beat weak, but consistent.

Despotic pulse declares intention,

demands my plural attentions,

commands each & all, large & small:

Tactile trace

His smooth face

Story-telling

Spiritual dwelling

Ankles swelling

Wish for history

Weeping thirstily

Ancient essence

Enduring presence.

Insistent pulse

at my fingertip.

I discard regard

for Sacred.

Replace with skeptical

scientifical quip:

Is this nothing more

than rhythmic score

of my life's own echo

throbbing through

tiniest threadways?

Dispel, deny, defy

as I may try,

Truth wins the day.

Glad I am

my skin

is thinner

in this way.

Not metaphorically ~

though that too is true:

laid bare to this

worldly pass-through ~

but actually thinner.

Keen sensation

of pulsation’s recitation:

I’m here.

Now

let me go.

(cc) Karen G. Johnston