You recount how touch initiates the sense of "I" . . .
how it costumes the body on misty mornings
and waits at the bus stop for passengers to resume their lives . . .
A test email breaks the silence . . .
The number of people passing through the portal increases . . .
And so it begins . . . parsing the engagement
with you in the soup aisle at the supermarket
swiping your phone for texts, checking the message
you took great care to get just right,
elbowing through inundations
amid the wearisome floundering of the spinning orb,
harvesting the future for meaning
while standing at the edge of a cliff for however long . . .
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| Antonio Palmerini |