the art of dialing j.d. schraffenberger Perhaps we shall lie at length and find each hour of the day or night by shadows resolving on your hips—bright as they are in their skin: but perhaps we’ve fallen already, and time is now paused all around us, passing over every object: Coke bottle, two cups, over here under the whipping sheets on a line, too loud to hear my voice asking now? as the light settles on the grass next door.