The Honesty of Envelopes


And the navy scarf embroidered with summer. Tucked around my neck, tucked around my heart. The heat kicks on after months of idle wait.  Winter winks, but first, a flush of rosy joy for leafy trails and long drags of pine.

The pages long for the honesty of envelopes. A reader, a writer; postage paid to go home. Dearest, I cannot believe summer is gone. / We should rent that cabin in the aching woods; I heard the river sings lullabies and the fireplace heats soup. / The cooler weather is a relief, but one can't help but feel the pending granite of winter. / Well, I must end before the evidence of my gravity spills all over this brave paper. / Please be well; it is my fondest wish. / Love, J.

The cardinals are chatty despite the on-again-off-again down pour. Weather, birds, letters and dreams. All of these words shaping a boundary I'd like to remove. And not last night but the night before, did you see the 4 a.m. moon bearing down on the horizon? The thumbnail slice glowed just enough to hint at the fullness balancing in its cup. Hung rightly in the east, I thought for sure I could hold him in my two hands.

a shy light –
just enough coverage
to reveal it all