INTO BEING
Here’s the only picture I have left: there is a telephone booth
in Otsuchi, white, four sides made of glass-panes.
In it sits a single black rotary telephone on a metal shelf,
forever disconnected. When one turns
to the right, they are overlooking a sea that once swallowed
the town whole. A wave came so large
there wasn’t time for language. If you go to this phone,
I will be on the other end listening
with my eyes closed. I will say I am here and this
is all the evidence we need.
That the wind carried us places we could not go. And you will say
it bewilders you—this little simulacrum
I’ve made us into.