Colleagues who die
kept in my rolodex
alive in circulation
flipping round in ritual
procession,
propped up by the living.
Looking for someone else
I sometimes encounter one of them
like a lone winter leaf still clinging to a tree
A silent abandoned phone number, a boarded up building
Touch the card like the Vietnam Wall
The name, the title, the unfinished business
A little flag saying I was here.
Michael Philips
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/colleagues-who-die/
