I call
for direction.
don’t lose me here;
not now.
a cold discarded penny
on wet pavement.
The phone smells
like other people’s voices.
Snow’s falling
across a silver, steel span
called the
but I’ve no destination
on an empty night.
If I could,
I would make time crawl
to me on its hands and knees
and you would love me again.
Lindsay Riggs Brown
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