They will be missing
#poetry
They will be missing
The flight instructions
at dawn
on the roofs.
They will be missing
the first reconnaissance in April,
the whistle
in the indefinite hour
of the evening
when the bat
flies grazing.
They will be missing
the crockery
the voices
the towels hanging out
the quiet of Sunday
down in the courtyard.
Between here and there
there is only
time to fill.
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