Alone Again

Alone again,
naturally, as the Beatles sing,
but is it natural to be alone?
George’s guitar plucks along
dolefully and naked in a single line, alone.

I miss him,
never did while he was alive
but he was the quiet one,
over there on the left, alone
while the others sang together.

Maybe he needed another line
to keep going,
to get on their plane.
A plane of his own, perhaps;
he was different.

I know what it is like
to be alone, so alone
that it almost seems natural.
In a crowd, I’m missed,
missed by them, by him,
always missed.

I never miss him
my man who is not mine (not George),
he’s ever-present
always keeping me company
in my dreams.

For that is where I wait for him (arms open),
he comes when I call,
when I need him
he comes when I want him.
I always do.

The night,
that’s when he is nearest,
I’m alone again while the sun is up
It’s not natural, I plead,
it can’t be.

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