With each word they tighten their fetters |
letters |
and lengthen their chains. She swipes the notes he sends her, |
splinter |
locked in shining sheets, somehow there |
here, |
yet always beyond reach. Still she waits |
making |
with open hands, catching coin, never knowing |
love |
the lips from which each leaf is torn – |
from |
still, she prays, where spaces stood, his letters stand – |
unspanned |
still, where once he stood, she withstands grief |
seas, |
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. |
sleeves. |
|
|