We were once always joined,
if only by relay and switch,
long copper wire.
My electrons would travel
thousands of miles,
to pour into you.

Now our words,
become zeros and ones,
are carried on rays,
chilled in airless space,
bounced back.

I yearn for languorous, analogue sounds,
miss the rhythm and ritual
and yet,
no matter where I am,
I need not know where you are.
Just one touch
and we speak.
I hold you in my hand.

© Anthony Fisher May 2005

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