No pumpkin.
No apple to dunk.
But dreams - of the passed.
Micky; I phoned him and heard his voice.
I remember the message I left and I know
what someone else said but Micky’s words, recorded on his answer phone remain
in the dream and are inaccessible in my waking.
I am left only with the sound of his voice,
the resonance of his tones, the sweet Spanish softness that he gave to this
world.
And which will forever be missed.
Sometimes the veil between the worlds is thin.
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