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