Casaba
if only I knew your name
perhaps I could call out to you
like that rain calls out to me
just before falling
the sound of the elderly
quiet ancestors gently setting down
easy chairs and old heaters
the hissing sound of the endless highway
with headlights always disappearing
just out of reach like love
or happiness or other myths
quietly whispered in sleeping bags
when you were eleven
and the whole world had opened
before you like a ripe casaba
like the sound of your name
if only I knew your secret
perhaps I could call out to you
and you would call out to me
just before falling
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