Lost Poem by William Cook

I’m waiting
the night is down
the sweet smell completes
my solitaire sonata

through barking streets
your whisper bleeds
calling, calling me

I wait for the sound to die away
as it does, too quickly
lost again in the divided mind
between there & here

I call your name
in attempted harmony
as if this would make you hear me
any clearer

anything at all
to entice you from the black ether
from the other side of night