Hymn to Texture

Deliver us into the hands of quartz,
Of stalks, of surfaces, give us to color,
To sea-green and to grass, to blue,
When trapped in our human life, touch fur.

Place hovering palm on the wet of lilies,
The nails of our claws on rimless silk,
Give us up, we will give ourselves, to rapture,
Swaying like drunkards in sight of milk.

Texture of ozone, and lift of meadows,
Tactual wonder of clay toned dust,
Give us the lesson: inanimate nature
Resolves the animate lust.

Meanwhile our ears on a baffled skull
Receive the blistering shot: give touch
To the oval cheek of a deadly shell,
Caress the unknown future.

~Ruth Herschberger

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