Touch your finger to your thumb.
Eons live in what you’ve done.
Million of years would pass
Before we had tools to last
Long enough to find in digs,
Stone instead of bone or twigs.
What good would be our human brains
Without our deftly human hands?
Three million years ago a touch
Could convey to others much.
The grip that once clung to a tree
Joins me to you,
And you to me.
We rightly treasure our magnificent brains – but touch defined what it means to be human, or at least hominid, for millions of years.