Distance

(For my friend, D.)

I can almost touch your pale skin,

our faces separated by a screen

that blurs, then clears,

and blurs again,

affording me only the sound  of your voice

and silhouettes –

a nose,

eyes,

ears,

lips

that I try to see from memory.

It is cold.

You are wearing black gloves

and rubbing your hands together

to keep warm.

I wonder if you will be here in the summer.

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Published in: on January 14, 2011 at 6:23 pm  Leave a Comment  

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