Whenever you miss something,
a smell, a rose, a sound of laughter
a face, a being, your own self
just walk, walk away from your longing --
toward newer places: patches of green,
dogs behind the tress with tinted collars
to where jazz music plays
operated by an old, ragged street performer.
And I
I have walked, all the paths
You will be amazed at the greenery I've seen,
And at the dogs I've managed to piss off
but the screeches of the jazz octaves I've hit
Still play
Till the dawn of meetings.
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