There has been a reckoning.
You are no longer there for me to hear. Listen,
we shall mend them. I dust off my intentions,
apply polish. They gleam like small silver tongs.
They are my best. You must tell me about them
when there is time. Your mouth moves, forming words.
We must replace the wires, tie them to strong people.
Take these from my hands, my little tongs. I said
take these from my hands. You turn away. Take them
to those others standing outside us, telephone poles,
fence posts. I can't quite hear what they are saying.
The wires are down. There are no strong men to guide us.
Let me look into your face, your eyes. You must
accept my promises, these small gifts neatly plated.
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