Number 9

I wish I were at Gate 

7;

but that is a time long gone

and passed by like

morbid spectator marching

London-way in

busyness and fury:

and the waiting becomes

eternal,

not transversal.

I miss you but

cannot

have 

what you were.

Maybe one say you might

day me a time and

place.

Maybe one day.

Maybe one say.

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