ALMOST LUNCH HOUR. THOUGHTS TURN TO YOU.
OUTSIDE WHO KNOWS WHAT THE WEATHER IS LIKE.
PERHAPS WARM. BEACH WEATHER. SUMMER BEGAN A FEW
DAYS AGO.
HOW ARE YOU WE ALL MISS YOU. LEFT TO OUR OWN DEVICES
WE CAN'T HELP ASKING OURSELVES:
WILL THE TELEPHONE EVER RING. WILL THE VOICE
EVER BE YOUR OWN.
MUCH METAPHYSICAL SUNLIGHT INTRANCES THE
POSSIBILITY OF GETTING TO KNOW YOU.
MAYBE ANOTHER DAY. MAYBE ANOTHER TIME.
YOU'VE BEEN AWAY FOR SO LONG.
YOU'VE BEEN TRAVELLING NO DOUBT.
YOU'VE SEEN MANY THINGS.
YOU'VE SPOKEN MANY WORDS.
MUCH IS NOT EASY.
LUNCH HOUR IS ALMOST UPON US.
JUNE IS ALMOST FINISHED.
JUST HOW IT ALL HAPPENS ISN'T KNOWN FOR SURE.
CERTAIN INTERPLANETARY LAWS CONTROL.
WE HAVE ALL CONSIDERED GIVING YOU GIFTS.
SOMETHING THIS TIME Y OU'VE NOT EVER HAD.
PERHAPS TO WELCOME YOU.
EMPTINESS LOOKS FOR ITSELF IN THE STRANGEST OF PLACES.
YOU ONE MOMENT. ME THE NEXT.
YES. YES. I KNOW ONLY TOO WELL, ALL THIS
JUMBLE OF LOOKING, SEARCHING, REDEEMING
OFTEN LOOKS TO BE MORE NONSENSE THAN REALITY.
YET. I TAKE IN MY ARMS THE POSSIBILITY
THAT MUSIC WOULD ONE DAY BE YOU.
CERTAINLY NOT HOPELESS. THE CATASTROPHE
OF THE HEART BECOMES THE ONLY RESILIENCE.
WE ALL THINK OF YOU. YET MORE, FROM OUT OF
EMPTY ROOMS THE IMAGINATION OF LANGUAGE
SINGS YOUR NAME.
COMPLEX WORLD. UNTOUCHABLE YET NOT ALTOGETHER
TRAGIC.
-- Jeff Wietor
