Colleagues who die
kept in my rolodex
alive in circulation
flipping round in ritual
propped up by the living.
Looking for someone else
I sometimes encounter one of them
like a lone winter leaf still clinging to a tree
A silent abandoned phone number, a boarded up building
Touch the card like the Vietnam Wall
The name, the title, the unfinished business
A little flag saying I was here.
Michael, Good images in this poem. In the end what is left of us but a name on a card somewhere? ! lovely.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
Yes, this one definately works for me.