Latter Day Letter


    This is a letter sent


    to explain everything,


    to divulge the changing


    secret of sea to air


    to mist to rain to sea.


    I


    Love letters


    are folded paper cranes


    which, despite exquisite


    design, fail


    to launch their own flight.


    Such letters should be


    written as flesh,


    Braille to be studied by


    cold hands in solitude,


    ice fingers moving


    slowly across


    a topographical map


    of bellies, lips, and


    thighs.


    II


    This heart was once


    a secret-sealed box


    that held a belled ball


    turned over and over


    by curious hands.


    III


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    My mind is a dime-store


    snow shaker


    in a land without true cold.


    Since snow is unseen,


    my head is thought to be


    scattering ashes.


    It has been said that it


    holds intact remains


    of the lost


    people of Pompeii.


    IV


    The passing of time


    is a diesel locomotive


    that leaves black in its wake,


    with smoke that bleeds into


    paper blank sky.


    Its clouds float lonesome


    high above the timberline.


    Air is water


    without lust.


    It erases every


    letter it writes.


    - Kat Isacson