Phase 3: Gather in Numbers
It's been so long since we saw
each one of our faces, our faces,
not the pixilated RBG version
of our faces. I have spoken
with your simulacra for hours,
listened to the garbled sounds
of you through laptop speakers.
I’ve looked at your face as a flat
screen, your picture in picture,
only to realize the camera lens
is you, not the picture of you.
I could not look you in the eye,
nut now, here you are, a body
moving through the world.
At one point in the distancing,
I believed that you stopped
being real, I imagined everyone
else was not real; quarantine
became the truth. Now I can touch
your hand, hug you close to me.
The atoms of your body comprise
you of you. Atoms are like pixels
and my body is made of atoms;
I think I am what I am, and you are
what you are. Even the stars
are like millions of pixels;
the night sky a screen lightening
as if the stars, too, must shelter in place.
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