12 July 2014

Postal Marks

I would be sad, said he,
were the day to come
when your letters could
no longer reach
my mailbox

sheets folded once, then
once again, envelope
addressed in slanting script,
cursive, always, abhorring the
block letters favored for
government forms

folding other sheets she
follows the letter in her
mind, his breaking the seal,
reading her words, consigning them
finally, to a desk drawer
where they hum, wordthick,
above all
the other papers, however
finely footnoted

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