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Who's Lost?
By Andrea L. Alterman

I'm half past tired and you're not home,
I'm ready to call on God in his heaven to
go out to find you wherever you are

hiding, and I'm sure you are hiding
from me or keeping some secret
that I want to know underneath

your sweet eyes that smile when
we get together after a day at work,
or hours spent hiking through trails

leading to a stream filled with curls
of water sweeping around wooden poles
and Jesus bugs skimming the top off

the transparent mirage of a noonday
sun staring back at us. I'm sure I must
have missed you back in the woods

somewhere, looking in your binoculars
at a common yellowthroat as mosquitoes
swarmed your sweaty elbows dripping

salt down into the soft marsh where frogs
sat waiting for the right time to chorus,
and a pileated woodpecker pinged

at the dead wood of an old oak,
standing naked amid the saplings
swaying below its lowest branches

and I'm waiting here, half past worried,
three quarters fidgeting, waiting for a word
or a sound that will tell me you're home.





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Document last modified on: 12/03/2006

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