A thousand miles away the sweetest sigh
of love and longing leaves her lonely lips,
a prelude or a postlude to a cry
accompanied by trembling fingertips.
A thousand miles away I hear her hair
brush gently as it falls across her face,
the softest sound of which I am aware,
a subtle sound she amplifies with grace.
Nearby, the howl of autumn winds and rain
is deafening in all its autumn rage,
a furious sound of cacophonic pain
which struts and frets across my noisy stage.
But I, poor player, choose what I will hear,
and press the phone more firmly to my ear.