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He said, “Thanks for the prayers,”
the man who won’t,
and doesn’t believe I should,
waste such time talking to the thin air
in my free or otherwise spent time.

He was in trial and I still believe,
neither or both of which
may have drawn us together
or are keeping us apart.

I prayed as I always do,
every morning in my mind
and every morning still far out of my life,
for a man mixed-up, moving forward.

I dream towards you,
towards me, towards making us.
Hopelessly, in fantasy.

(It’s all just poetry.)