Silver tresses fly
wild and old bones
as she leans
into the wind,
and chisel against
a letter box, rusted shut.
The question echoes
How long since
oh. oh, oh, oh.
I have a friend who has written letters to her husband and children, to be read only after her death. It would drive me mad to know I had a letter like that and be unable to open it.
“each blow”–that has particular resonance.
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