And While We Are Writing Letters.

 


The insane way
you know

just far too much
about everybody
like an oak
steadfast,
solid,
yet listening in her leaves;
telling stories
blowing them through branches
watching them drift
through the wind.
Snow pettals
landing
at her trunk
ungarded

Well, I've allways wondered
what you told your
sailors
about me.

I've tailored the
the accreditation

in
my

head.