poring over an etching
in a cool museum archive,
the artist’s hands touch mine
over the vast space of time
and it’s been so long since
someone held them,
they tremble.

you call, breaking the spell.
i am so surprised that
i let the phone ring
until the song fades,
the ringtone drops off,
the room becomes quiet again.

i put the print back in it’s drawer.
it’s almost lunch time.

i wish for a long life then.
a long life because i don’t want
to be in a drawer, waiting,
across space and time and silence
to be held again by another.

i return your call
on my way to the car.


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