There is a letter hiding
Inside this envelope.
Addressed in handwriting
As if etched….on
A print I recognize…..
Familiar marks I wished, at times, I never knew
Other times, I wished I had known better.
So are our lives…..represented
By this letter……
A relationship of a paper receptacle
With its four corners, glued folds
A flap that awaits closure
With many words waiting to be
You have added, perhaps
A final voice inside this letter.
An ending I search for
Mixed with the anxiety for the loss
Of the sound your words make.
And the question is
If I open this letter
Will reading it stir up all those summers
heated in our veins, or
Will its therapy send a cool breeze
To pacify all the seasons we have invested
In? ….Surely, the wind is unpredictable.
If the breeze picks up,
As it has done many times
I run the risk of the letter flying
Out of my hands, the reading left
So, I fear,….. while simultaneously
I am in calm realization, that
I do not believe in the myths of fall
The false solitude of winter
Your letter may mix up the seasons
But, it cannot end them.
I carry your voice deep within
All my writing…..(And yours)
We have written
We will write
I place your letter inside my pocket,