The dust circulates as the wind
blows the sand long and short days.
When I look back in the mirror
I see your reflection, reflecting back at me.
Yet, you are not there.
My thoughts are like a conversation between us,
but no one is in the empty chair.
I would call your number if I had it.
If I could put a message in a bottle, I would send it today.
But, the birds are going on strike.
So I write in hopes of a miracle.
The day I see you, that would be a miracle.
After writing, what sense does it make
if a lifetime wait is no good.
I’ll be glad when the wait is over.
