Sometimes without notice with
the sound of a door slamming
whistling to ourselves in the dark

or with counterfeit emotions
papering the dark whistling place
with what we wish we could name

Even now the sound of distant rain
a held breath and a word unspoken
and far off what we love calls to us

onward and outward through the
imagined sound of clapping hands

Copyright © 2021 Vasily Ingogly. All Rights Reserved.

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