The Call
By james bezerra
I hear the quiet call
of that thing I miss most of all.
Or, I think I do.
I guess I never knew
how much I would miss
that thing I miss most of all.
But I would be remiss
if I showed such gall
as to pretend that what I hear
is really a real call.
As I sit alone here
what I really hear
isn’t anything at all.
No, it’s just the sound of me missing
that which I miss most of all.
.
.
.
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