NET CALL

Lost in the dark forest, confused

At last the humped shapes

Crouching beneath camouflage, silent still.

Reaching up the door opens to light,

warm fug, cigarettes, uniforms, hot radios,

The chitter of morse.

I take the headphones, the key,

Net call the Group, are you there?

"Yes", the chirps fly in,

"Were here, together, us".

Our invisible world of the air.

Now, when I need you,

Turning the dial, silence.

Max Frost

13 April 2002