I keep coming back to this poem by British Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy again and again.
There is a myth among poetry writers that poets will only ever write a few perfect poems. Well, I think this is part of her (quite ample) list of absolutely perfect poems. It is from her collection “Rapture,” which won the T.S. Elliot Prize and should be on every poetry fan’s bookshelf.
Text
I tend the mobile now
like an injured bird
We text, text, text
our significant words.
I re-read your first,
your second, your third,
look for your small xx,
feeling absurd.
The codes we send
arrive with a broken chord.
I try to picture your hands,
their image is blurred.
Nothing my thumbs press
will ever be heard.
ZETEO 