Dead letters have more life than you ever had

Seventeen sets of moons
have come to pass
since your day
and I can’t write
a single word
without cameras
and snapshots
with no light
or any trees
that kept their leaves
in the winter.

At least we can say about you
that you played this game well
and lit up the night
before you disappeared
across the ocean
and what I have
you’ll never respond to
without a disorganized
state of reference.

At least the words
I wrote you
were legible.
As least no one died
getting them to you.
That’s more than I can say for you.


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