the soft and faint truth washes away when
the sheets of night are dethreaded by daylight.
the best and most simple wish she can tuck into
the boom mic is to know what can be recorded and
preserved as silence,
a radiator exhales like a slender nicotine lover,
the window adjusts for bleary vision: condensation
has come crying home and collects in the sil.
she's been listening for days at a time,
this answering machine life offers no extrovert
expressions, it just captures thought.
wait for the tone.
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