why not in the mist at dawn
on a small blue lake
nestled in a forest
or the same place at sunset
copper and yellow threads
wet on its surface still as glass
as the call of a loon
widens across the water
reaches your hollow point
and spreads like sadness
fills that empty space
you didn’t know you had
that cry for companionship
is the loneliest single note
that echoes over water
and as beautiful as it sounds
who is comforted
by the sound of an echo?
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