Once distance was bulky, too wide a thing

to fathom. Messages arrived days late,

babies were born without fathers, soldiers

died privately and were buried in strange towns

by folks who adopted them as heroes.

Embalmed in an abandoned railroad station

the telegraph flares once more. Almost human,

it lets loose a tongue-clicking, spontaneous Morse-code:

Telegrapher’s key in the abandoned

rail station in Metamora, Illinois