If there were a word that meant
thought, mind, spirit
and wish, desire,
appetite.
And memory,
and recall. And finally also
will, purpose, intention,
we might have it down:
The lonely middle-aged man
filled with wanting without being filled with hope,
filled despite
the longing, being just sated enough.
An afternoon on a park bench
with a friend,
gazing at passersby, reminiscing.
And if we did have the word?
Not just one thing alone,
and not just longing.
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