i’ve more than myriads of mountains
peaking quietly from behind my
skyward eyes and if you just
you might see their pindrop tips
freckling my tired blue with
winter white.

i’m bleeding words these falling days and
oh it’s really nothing new
(not like your unexpected hand in mine,
no, nothing quite like that)

but i am thoughtfully beginning to almost-fear
that these silly spews i leave for you
might forever be my piece d’résistance
and how that irks me so, little love,
my silent dawn of startling fire
with your dusk-held eyes that promise me
one days and

for when it happens (as it always does,
even when i’m awakened so as now)
my pens will break wide as love and
no words will come —
(                                      )

and you will have been my
best letters’ last.