With each word they tighten their fetters |
letters |
and lengthen their chains. She swipes the notes he sends her, |
center |
locked in shining sheets, somehow there |
here, |
yet always beyond reach. Still she waits |
pained, |
with open hands, catching coin, never knowing |
lowly, |
the lips from which each leaf is torn – |
shorn, |
still, she prays, where spaces stood, his letters stand – |
stranded |
still, where once he stood, she withstands grief |
like |
like pennies pounded thin, like thieving |
sheep, |
hands and mouths mutely confessing |
caught |
that most essential crime – the sin |
in |
of lettering love. Even us judges then |
thickets, |
cannot set them free. |
ensnared. |
|
|