Shouldering in silence
the phone receiver ripples in time
barely hanging in place
with an old 10p coin stuck in the slot,

braced in leaves 
almost like Nature was as much hiding it
as well as devouring it 
ablaze with sea salt tomb tears,

unrehearsed emotions 
a moment in time 
wedged shut through the keyhole 
offering no clue to who had being there.

(First in a short series of poems wrote in response to haunting photographs by my friend Benjamin Thomas Holton.

Benjamin or Ben to me is also in the Rural ambient indie band Epic 45 who have produced numerous albums, some of which are available on https://digital.waysideandwoodland.com/