You never liked to get
the letters that I sent
but now you’ve got the gist
of what my letters meant.
You’re reading them again
the ones you didn’t burn
you press them to your lips
my pages of concern.
I said there’d been a flood
I said there’s nothing left
I hoped that you would come
I gave you my address.
Your story was so long
the plot was so intense
it took you years to cross
the lines of self-defense.
The wounded forms appear
the loss, the full extent
and simple kindness here
the solitude of strength.
You walk into my room
you stand there at my desk
begin your letter to
the one who’s coming next