Now
waiting for years
at the bottom
of a desk drawer
in a room in a house
a thousand miles
from home.
Imagine the moment
it is finally found,
then examined
by a stranger
you used to know
and who once knew you,
or so the story goes.
Imagine the unexpected
weight of his thumb
on the cardboard frame,
and the longing it stirs
when the vibration
reaches your face
and hair and hands �
Hands which cannot
be seen or felt by him,
only remembered,
noted in their absence,
as is the rest of you
hidden beneath clothing
long since thrown away.
Imagine your eyes
adjusting to the light.
Imagine the sound
of your voice
when first it conquers
the intervening years.
Imagine how helpless
he must feel now,
and how foolish,
when he tries to answer.
June 19, 2006
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