there are two voices on the other end of the line 
this time last week, one of them was mine -
keeping up the necessary empathy,
or maybe the appearance thereof,
was much, much easier
on the other end of two thousand miles.
i do know that trying to be good is really not the same as the real thing at all.
he always took the phone to the bedroom, though, 
and i was reverent, patient, and silent
each time you called.
i guess that would explain 
why your beautiful voices
and the disconnected distances that spring up overnight 
electrified fences, frayed selvedges, stark palisades and hedges 
have left nothing connecting us
except three voices in thin air, pitched too high. 
i felt my stomach rumble down deep
and my lungs fill to push against my heart
i'm so sorry to be small, but i don't think i promised -
what did i know -
that i would never let these things happen