you write from new, from far
wearing the skyline in your hair like a crown.

your words burst from paper right over porch
I start to smell cities
streets and cities in your handwriting
your voice sounds like the sweetest slap.
you say:
this, dear, is who I’ve always wanted to be

I hold on to your words. they remind me of the
notes we passed when no one was looking
I knew they’d come back. I used to think
you would return to me too.

I placed your letters between us as a path for your tired feet
but you laugh free without lethargy without a need for balm
or me

we’ve mailed each other bricks for a wall
now too high for me to climb after all.