Perfect Call

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When you called me I didn’t realize you had anything important to say.
Life is all bundled up in anxiety and pressing thought,
so I figured more of the same.
Then you said we would not talk much,
but listen and study the spring flowers.
The ones that come out of the mother’s nature spontaneously,
without all the fussing and nurturing that people will put into a garden
before they leave at the end of the work day.

I see the disorder now that I have been concerned about for so long.
Just the way we met was perfect
and just the way we are at ease with each other is quite perfect,
despite the mess that surrounds me.
When I anticipate your calls,
I am almost always right in my wondering.
There it is, me, sitting, looking through the windowed lids that have been resting
and listening.
Then suddenly your intimate voice, which I love to hear,
snaps me out of my lonesome trance.
I laugh at how false I had been to myself all day.
I needed your quick call,
in the same way some still need flowers, even though they have no apparent usefulness,
but only beauty.
So I have learned: to love beauty and your calling.

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