Touch is a language. And though my house is dark,
I feel the light. I am myself a lamp here.
The Lord of Harmony is never far.
He has His luminous fingers in my hair.
My kingdom is restored, but only the ambient
bunny thumps at night under the recliner
to have her muzzle stroked. When I assent,
my solitary moments grow kinder.
She has scheduled this time for her caresses.
Her simple heart makes a meadow of me.
When I stroke her ears, she acquiesces.
Thus do we make a willing couple. Her silky
Fur needs petting, fits me like a glove,
and at least my fingers keep the habit of love.