Not Touched but Moved

Death has left its imprint on me so much I 
don’t know who is touching me inside anymore.

Certainly it’s another presence,
a voice apart from God.

Or is God the sum total of 
all my known deaths?

My soul is an oarless canoe 
afloat a lake of tears

seeking both initiation 
and response to steer it. 

Every death is almost next to me 
entered gradually,  disappeared,

not gone. Internalized.  
Just almost next to me-

done being themselves,
but not being part of me.

Sometimes the separation,
the loneliness is so extreme 

that I am moved 
by almost everything,

the body of life not 
touching against me,

just moving the canoe 
along.