When you feel lonely, you might find it strange,
but the tips of your fingers, your skin,
though it may not find another’s flesh,
will register something.
Will hear as though they had ears.
Reach out, stretch out to left and right.
There is the sound of children laughing, crying.
A couple on their bikes, passing in a rush of wind.
The breeze and the trees swaying.
And there is the cat in its corner breathing.
The humming fridge.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry