We are telephone wire
tight and humming
spread about and stretching
some strange vein
across the palm of the land
and feeling the fingertip ache
of almost touching
we sneak through holes in roofs
like mice carrying pieces of paper or
just pieces of us
we are telephone wire
black and thin and knotted
strung up on silent trees
we shake birds free
and dance to the sound of beating wings
by patrick donahue