Happy to still find the sound,

as if there is still a pulse,

patting the piles of paper

the stacks, on my hands and

knees, redialing, my own

number, the charge has not

worn down, as if here is how

you manage it, here it is

of course there’s still a pulse in

the mislaid sleeping cell phone

following its pulsing cell, its sound,

here it is, close to me, it was

close to me, across the room, i

groped, i listened, i waited,

paused, it was not visible

to me, it was so faint

there underneath a book called

Saints and Strangers,

which i had only recently taken off

the shelves again.