Phone Pigeon

I lost my cell phone like a pet

One moment the plastic computer pigeon was in my pocket

With pinioned wings and then it flew

Reached in to grab absence

Retraced my steps to the last routine interface

Every corner burned to ashes

The contacts in contract of lives touched and frayed

Holding photographs and links

Afraid the ghosts will come calling to call

And I will be left without a compass to code my communique

Loves meandered musings wanting to hold out hope

Knowing the platform to that train station was already gone

Tickets expired shredded in hands punching air

Exhausted from hoping the conductor would reevaluate profitable routes

Uncovering cushions and rummaging drawers for a semblance of self

Stored into a listing of cascading rain drops and the flower fears

Shortness of breath to be able to speak the words I hoped I would have the time

It all feels gone too soon like a blankness of Sundays

Of who might wish to listen if I could ever find the moment where I felt

It possible again behind all this silence

The months and years wrapping like pelted storm

Wet of face wrinkled dry to say, “I miss you.  Come back. I’m hurting.”

Hearing the syllables limpness the improbability

As if when I called you would even pick up the phone

Now I cannot even do that

I feel that bit more alone in the world

Like a boy without his blanket

Feeling the atheism seep back in

Wishing you knew how to call me