The rare girl of beauty

There was a girl I loved once

and she would send me night messages.

They would appear occasionally

on my phone

at midnight or two a.m.

sometimes as late as four.

They would say things like;

I don’t think Grover is on Sesame Street anymore

or I saw an owl in my yard

occasionally a question:

do you have a copy of Yeats or Thomas?

or whoever the hell she wanted to read.

It came to be that I looked forward to her messages.

I would wait in the dark, dozing not asleep

hoping

then the phone would ding

and the message would be there

like a lovers kiss and embrace.

When they stopped

the world stopped

the nights were longer and colder,

sadder.

They never came again

I wait for them still.

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