Protocols

June, 2004

In the middle of a meeting, a connection has cut in.
I pull out the trembling circuits from beside my breast.

There appears your face, frozen into pixels, blue and
Blotchy from the cataract of inexpensive circuits.

Your smile is unfamiliar, and I think of all the times
I let my fingers thrill-ride the roll of your cheekbone.

Thousands of decisions were made, and protocols were followed
to put you on the other side of a fingerstroke.

You have infiltrated my space and my head,
Diminishing the droning meeting to a reedy buzz.

I see you staring out the window, depleted and mute.
I fail to find the words to bring you back into my arms.

You tell me you never get through to me, but you do.
You make sure that you are all that I think about.

You quake in quiet in my hand. I cannot take this call.
Too much can be misconstrued in a whispered conversation.

With the same ease with which I would bring you to my ear,
I cut you off. I can tell you later that I

Had a bad connection. Inherent unreliability
Must be accepted in any human system.