Friday, 10 September 2010


When we melt
Into each other’s ghost

We gain a closer
Of corporeal needs:

Sheeted on separate beds
At each end
Of the Atlantic

And thanking the lucky stars
That link us
In transmission.

My land line
Connected to your grapevine
And exchanging

The bravery
Of our relationship
Across such distance.

And once run,
And spun, and run back home,
The phone holds

Our conversation
In the ephemeral vault
Of its memory.

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