A sleepy Sunday morning
Started with a call from a stranger
Who sounds like a friend;
And it went like we know each other,
Topics poured in and we found no end.

Like this call, sometimes
Try to call my name aloud,
Your true self, try to show me;
Sometimes try to find me in the crowd,
Sometimes try to know me.

In this life of loneliness,
When all relations fake;
That call in your voice is
Yet another reason, my life, to make.

Grope for me like this
Knowingly or unknowingly,
At least I could write a poem for you
And read it to you when we come across;
Or if it does not go that way,
I will go back to write about caribou
And the arctic moss.