We’re learning to travel in a new way—
a metaphorical run toward a room,
armed with a meeting number and a code.
If we’ve copied it right, we can enter
as pixels of light, a virtual self
that can move and speak, seem to be side-
by-side with the others whose company
we seek, each in our own separate window,
as if all gazing out from a high-rise
on a world we can’t reach. Our ears and eyes
are gratified. But when we leave, our lights
extinguished one by one, we miss the crush
of flesh, the soothing hug, the scent of skin
of those we love and need to feel as real.
First published in the San Francisco Chronicle
Copyright © 2020 by Barbara Quick