There’s an envelope with a song for you I left in your mailbox.
A nuthatch in autumn leaves wrapped in white velvet that won’t last the night.
At the LOST & FOUND, I can’t wake up.
The wooden ruler with the metal edge sticking out has wreaked havoc while I was measuring the distance to stars.
I wish I could tell you [but I’m too tired of typing and blue-lit screens, election results and surgeries] —
how I long to be the poem you need.