And there’s that man without a face.
You’ll never shine that flashlight on
him, because you know he’ll stay black,
’cause you’ve calculated the time
light travels “from him to me.”
What you perceive now might not be
what he was then.

And the telephone’s still ringing—
some cat’s meowing for some food.
A recent lover’s left her voice,
but you just aren’t in the mood.
Besides, you know she’ll call you
back again. When your bed is cold,
you’ll call her too.