Long Distance

The bay window evenings
eying cold hills through world-muting glass,

love ordered numbers
I dial shakily:

0141

[her city, its termini
and gum-freckled pavements]

625

[her suburb, its braided din
of kids and sparrows]

3014

[her house;
her hair-graced ear].

A misdial early would
send me miles –

to unseen cities whose
greyscale skies

and rag-and-bone men bells
reverberate unnoticed;

a misdial later,
a different neighbour,

the petrol garage at the
end of her road...

the curtain twitcher
by the kindergarten. Yet it's

the final number
which invariably slows

the braving finger –
suspending it above

the deal-sealing digit
like paused footage

of a firing bullet