Dead letters

I thought

you would be everywhere,

in every hidden face

behind gold.

I thought

I would have to hold myself

against touching shoulders

to know the truth

of a turning stranger’s surprise.

But that is gone.

I knew you too well,

seen too often,

watched too many times

as you moved away.

I have stopped

looking for you

knowing that I will know

if you cross my path

and knowing

that if I do not see

it is not important now.

So much I did not see.

Now I stand,

shelf-stooped and spine-scanning,

an addict’s restless gaze,

seeing all and finding none.

On your shelves

or on your table,

a book of mine.

I want it back,

to read of course,

but more to unravel

the weave we once were,

knotted loose and useless.

We have become the memories,

unannounced and unwelcome.

They move too fast and too slow,

soul-blocking hazards.

Uncharted shallows

hidden in the waves.

A sea of those who mean nothing.

Will I learn one day

to see you coming

and sidestep smoothly ?

I already know.

I have read you once,

and need not again.


One Response to Dead letters

  1. Val says:

    Well, aren’t you an interesting discovery for a Monday afternoon. I found you via Voxpoetica and it was a good thing to stumble in here. Excellent writing. I’ll be back. 🙂

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