It has grown upon us gradually,
fires on sequential hilltops
relaying news of the new moon,
terse telegrams I still have from our 1973 wedding,
and now
cozy Skype visits
right into the living rooms
of dear far friends.
I must visit my next door neighbour one of these days.
But first, let me Skype with Jayda,
share coffee with her in her Calgary kitchen,
whisper soul to soul,
enjoy her eyes, her curls, the gentle music of her dear voice,
slip the surly bonds of place
in this new, post-geographic world.
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