Sometimes you don’t feel the distance, you talk
through the stretched time zones, nearly every day,
carefully aligning your staggered clocks.
Sometimes it’s just a text – ‘okay?’ ‘okay.’
At other times, the distance is a log
from here to the vanishing point, its weight
unwieldy, no language, no dialogues
to lift it, to break through, communicate.
So you leave it hanging, leave things alone,
you wipe off the scary scenes in your head.
You keep mumbling, it’s nothing, it’s the phone.
It's not him. It’s just the phone that’s gone dead.
Nothing’s golden at a remove, silenceequals no rare metal beyond a distance.