the wake-up call

I have conversation-mingle 

as the backdrop to thoughts of you,

that front-stage crosses my mind.

yes, it is a quick reach

for recent incidences 

that animate within me.

there is a timeline imposed 

for referencing when we last . . .

now, seas between islands,

episodes that float on storylines. 

the tediums of self-directedness,

sending us off in diverse directions.

but then, a magnetism of heart,

that always overrides.

when distance suggests time apart,

tasks of personal isolation

and themes that party as habits done alone.

maybe there are parallels not evident,

the way the sweep of mind concludes,

these cynical observations served silently,

the occupancy of body that contrasts

with when we are together,

the tediums of repetition that get handled

as if we could sub-in for the other,

the awareness of method differences,

yours to mine or mine to yours,

whichever initiates 

that the other withholds remarks.

neither of us, much for photos taken

or memories as our way 

of a building process.

we are train-station activities, 

waiting for a ticket to ride.

lifetimes of buildup submerged,

not even to be realized until now.

not that there was no calling out,

but convention demanded a story 

with convenient refrains, 

guy-girl, age-range, mutual reception,

buzzy to buzzy, 

somewhat common interests.

so how do paints of different colors mix? 

when does mix become 

striking in contrasts 

or bloom of a new blend?

who of the two of us

is then the brush or the wall,

for any or all of that to happen?

so conversations that we have never had

but actually are having us in waiting.

we only have the red carpet of the future

which is never that color when it arrives.

but every time we get together,

there is the possibility of waking up.

or more deeply waking up,

as if the phone rings 

as the wake-up call.

are you getting this,

or am I? . . .