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Phone Call To Hospice Room 45

Rings from my work desk
And again
The ocean flattens itself
A stalking, tired animal

Her voice could have been
Tired having worked this cancer thing
Like she worked three jobs
Like she sold houses on Sundays
Like she came home late
Like her car running low on fuel
Gliding into the station

I call again
This time
The trill continues
Ghost like
Like the car steadying the drive through thick fog

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