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Virtually touching by Ann Grant

We blink away remains of sleep
shake ourselves awake
Morning taps drip
tasks to complete
people to meet.

It’s a difficult route
from plate to mouth
fallen soldiers
egg on our shirts.

but the road to the office is easy now
touch phone screen twice, we’re in
no backstreet weatherman banter.

Our colleagues are collies
curled up at our backs.

I’m still with you in the woods
in your brain, on a train.
Journeying through portals, platforms
and pandemonium
the dregs of a pandemic.

Without this connection
where would we be?
You’d be somewhere
and I’d be here
barely moving.