Friday, May 07, 2021

Voicemail Through a Barn Window


 

Tell me again, old friend,

your thoughts as quick and exact

as swallows sailing

through a broken barn window,

your voice as bright and clear

as I remember

from days when I wished—

I won't say it,

others are otherwise now,

and we are the same,

and the time for wishing

has ended.

Tell me again, old friend.

Fly west.