I was calling you in my mind, willing you to hear me, beseeching, in your own.

And I may never know if you felt me,

If I entered your mind unbidden, and you fanned me away like errant smoke.

I doubt I’ll ever have the chance to ask,

And more than that I doubt you will remember these little details,

Which, to a mind like mine, are the stuff of life,

And to a mind like yours are dust in the wind.

I was calling you, calling you, and eventually it was me I had to call upon

Because I was the only one who could answer.

I was calling you in my mind, willing you to hear me, beseeching, in your own.