Sing to me

Sing to me
breathy and low,
full of your core,
your nomad spirit,
hold it there for me,
like a phantom’s voice
dangling in open space,
dusty and still
it pinches my thoughts
when your song
all but evades this land.
I will wait for it,
for your voice,
hanging in the barges
carrying the wind
to ricochet under bridges
and night rivers
winding through
zombie crowds.
I’ll be there to hear it,
sitting by the wall
with my head down,
and shoulders empty
for your neglected space.

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