Casaba

if only I knew your name perhaps I could call out to you like that rain calls out to me just before falling the sound of the elderly quiet ancestors gently setting down easy chairs and old heaters the hissing sound of the endless highway with headlights always disappearing just out of reach like love or happiness or other myths quietly whispered in sleeping bags when you were eleven and the whole world had opened before you like a ripe casaba like the sound of your name if only I knew your secret perhaps I could call out to you and you would call out to me just before falling