A cup of black coffee stands atop a newspaper
Vivid aroma in a black-and-white world
Bitter hints of its momentary presence
Season my silent tongue
I hear the echo following each throbbing pulse
“Arthur”
A plane ticket rests in a black canvas tomb
Out of sight and out of mind
Plotting to change the channel in time
Its pallid face and sharp edge
Emblazoned with neatly jumbled words and digits
“Arthur”
A warm embrace is delicately delivered
From the past in the present
Going unreturned in the desolate terminal
As the fluorescence grows violent
The faintest murmur hangs in the atmosphere
“Arthur”
A broken whisper singes the receiver
From all the way across the globe
Its bonfire tongue crackling and pleading
Standing each hair on end
Like the unforgiving chill of thirty-six thousand feet
“Arthur”
It is the sound by which I am called
And the call to which I respond
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