Something about distance.
You are standing on my front porch calling me
on the phone, wondering where I am.
I am far away
Just last night, a different distance—
Dinner with the transformed boy
I haven’t seen in thirty years.
Across the table, talk of flying to Denmark
for Easter, back again the next day.
I think we should all put down our forks and
phones and wineglasses, and pause
a moment, pause right here, touch the space we inhabit,
marvel at this magic world where
we rise above time and place where
we can leap tall buildings
for the sweet sound
of each other’s voices.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 