Envelopes fall daily from the sky.
Drifting across the tops of desks and tables,
they lie deep beside typewriters,
stacks of books and notes.
Queries from other continents
waiting for answers, loneliness wishing
a few words, blank spaces hungry to be filled in-
they whisper like wind in snow-soft woods.
Night falls, but the air grows lighter
as I come to this hushed winter
of paper. I bend over the obligatory letter,
plow a path,
and end a snowblind sleeper.
from NOSTALGIA FOR 70, 1986 ©
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