SOMEONE CALLED

Someone called you
but left no message

like the last message
that left your skin raw

and no one had your back
to the wall art flower child

who was a runaway
in the far country

of the prodigals
somewhere disheveled

searching for oracles
or at least a riddle

to question the answer
in exchange for the distant call

you hope will be recorded
for your one miracle

in your language
of adolescence

as you listened at sixteen
to alto sax by the door

yet you were hung up
on for no reason

yet wonder
why you are a still life

there amid a poet's voice
as midnight falls

on the urban read
at the club playing sax

or hear your destiny
onto a Beat's last words

or here after tuning
in your curiosity

at the pawnshop
with all your possessions

even Dostoevsky's
"A Raw Youth"

along with his Crime
and Salinger's Catcher

when all the city tears
and country laughter is gone

you still search by yourself
on the river of your amazement

along the high dunes
for Leda, the black swan.