I was devoted, I sat at your feet.
I called a photograph of a telephone
twenty times a day, asking for you, for you, for you.
I wore your ring until my hand fell off.
I put my hand on ice, my body under glass.
I slept a hundred years like that.
People came from distant lands to admire me.
My hair was preserved, a single flame.
Where were you?
When I awoke, I met a statue with your face.
It was as if no time had passed at all.
I bowed. I began
a polite conversation about weather.