The letters
You never liked to getThe letters that I sent.But now you've got the gistOf 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 crossThe 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 toThe one who's coming next.