Space Junk

 

The touch

that brings us home

from dark places,

and endless wandering.

The whisper

of our name

on the wind,

that calls us back

from the edge,

from the depths,

from somewhere

way out there.

We might be the ones,

whispering,

reaching out

to bring them in.

The lost,

and the wounded,

floating out there,

like space junk,

or sunken  treasure.

If you go too far,

or get lost,

I’ll reach out

and call you back.

I’ll call you back.

I’m calling you.

I’m calling.

 

 

HG – 2022

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