While browsing the net i came across a lovly poem by Michael Dennis Browne.
Today I explained telepathy to you,
and telephone, and television,
on the way to day care,
and I said, sometimes when I'm at work
I'll think of you,
and if I could send you that thought with my mind,
you'd get it right then,
and maybe you'd smile, stopping a moment at whatever
you were doing, or maybe not
but just going on with it, making a mask out of paper plates
and orange and green cards
with markers and scissors and paste,
or screaming circles in the gym
either being a monster
or being chased by a gang of them, but still you'd get
the picture I was beaming
and you'd brighten inside and flash me something back,
which I'd get, where I was, and smile at.
That's telepathy, I said
pulling into the parking lot,
looking at you in the mirror.