Advice for the digital age

I stretch out a finger.

On most of the days of our universe, that finger has been and will be

no finger, but a loose collection of atoms not involved with one another.

And they couldn’t care less about being a finger.

I point the finger at these characters.

On most of the days of our universe, there is nobody around to hear the divine in Bach.

The finger I call a miracle. Writing about it is no trickery.

I raise the finger.

I roll it up to claim the membership of a fist.