Where  are you?
I wait.
But there are no sounds of arrival.
The light does not filter. The focus remains unconvinced.
There is no part of the day, no point in mine and no portal
Through which to discover the singular truth you conveyed.
The conversation has stopped and our empty tongues
Are locked, silent. My hands that dove in you,
Searching for warmth remain cold.
Once I felt summer in you, the smell of your face
Close against me. But now these words winter and the chain
Of my thought appears old.
You have moved, quietly towards another camera.
Our photographs, look, are fading
And the tale we both made has been told.
David Erdos
Illustration Nick Victor
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