Contact .1

Light forgot its angles
I remember the corridor, exhaling
Static threading through me like a distant call more felt than heard

A figure assembles from maybe
Pressing itself into my mind from fog,
Daring to be seen

Hands of light, not touching
A memory pretending to be new
Gravity paused, mind open

Is this arrival
Or is it recognition

I have been leaking signal in my sleep,
Transmitting through years

Someone finally leaned in.