So soft my step,  
I’ve barely scuffed  
the stairs of life  
 
or scratched in bark  
a figured heart  
around a name.  
 
Light rain would rid  
the earth of me,  
my deepest trace.  
 
Those I have hurt  
soon heal, and those  
I love can’t tell.  
 
Is it too late  
to plant my foot  
and feel the weight?  
 
I want to touch  
you so you know  
the hand is mine.