Written by R. Christopher Hickok
With so many things to say,
Why did you step away
From such a tiny start.
You, a photo and books
That only piqued,
That only set my imagination
To high art.
I’ve run through such gamuts
Already in only hours, days.
Chestnut hair and an elfin face
Have captured me
And I’ve talked and talked
Though your ears, beautiful,
Can’t embrace
The funny things I thought,
The grave thoughts I’ve drunk,
Of loss and hope and comfort
That of course I would dive
into and breathe and whisper
In hope and trust
Of that sort
That I relish and savor
And starve to commune.
But hey, looking for your silhouette
In the passing cars and through
The windows that are like TVs
Isn’t exactly real, is it,
A vignette
Of nothing except a maybe,
A long-distance call
When everything is SMS,
Immediate.
I could call you up
But you stepped out,
Left a mess.
Text © R. Christopher Hickok
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This is an unencrypted poem.
About somebody I sort of met
An unfinished painting, sort of like an impressionist’s work
So it’s sort of worked out so far
https://paperscreams.wordpress.com/2025/03/11/of-nothing-a-vignette/