In the flickering lamplight
I listen or your call,
the sound from you returning to
this solid soil.
~
I awoke at 5, whence once
the jazz turned to talk
and I, alone, in my bed,
was reminded of my solitude in the
night. While all others slumbered.
~
Alone I sat, I sit alone. Listening
for that sound, that
single signal showing me you’re
near.
Never knowing if I should return
home, giving up the search.

Your sketchbook, your soul,
given to me to stow for the while,
sits on sheets and somehow I
sense you through it. You will
be back to reclaim what is
yours in time.