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