Surfaces

the map of one's destiny
in the lines of the palm,
the clutch of a child's fingers
now lost in the calm,
the dance of happy sunbeams
on leaves, rocks and tin,
the melting of identities
as skin moves against skin,
the feel of music on hairs
dancing and standing on end,
the rub of sand against stone
to shape an old barren land,
the wings of a dragonfly
kissing the face of the wind,
the gently growing ripples
dying against the water's rim;
what else is there?
what more do we need?
for surfaces are portals
to meet ourselves
as gods and kings.