Words Written at the Fingertip

As the Heart Leads

On the desk, with my fingertips,

I try writing a name.

Names that suddenly come to mind.

After writing a few,

I can no longer remember them clearly.

Have they faded,

or have I simply walked too far away?

Still, they are names I miss.

In the car, on the window glass,

I trace words from memories only I know.

Streetlights, mittens, a crossroads.

One by one, they return—

words that once lived inside love.

A heart sent quietly through my fingertips.

Before sleep, I close my eyes

and write a few letters

upon my heart,

just as they rise.

thank you.

sorry.

And a heart that longs to see you.

A greeting of love,

sent through my fingertips.

*these are my own paintings *