dear lover

i am reading your letter that
has been sleeping, like an old
dog faithfully awaiting death,
between the pages of a book
bound in musty leather


and


my sad eyes are traveling oh so
carefully, as if on tenterhooks,
over the curves of each letter
that forms each cautious word
written in ink, dark blue.


alas


i arrive at the name now, the
name that replaced mine. the
flower you spoke of dreamily
as if remembering a scent or 
deep in solemn prayer


(sigh)


i am finished reading and in the
silence everything is illumined,
i am caught in a summer day. 
watermarks of mist and fog
stray from my head.


yet


curiously, not a lump forms in
my throat and my heart settles
to a saunter. somewhere. thunder
rages and lightning crashes but 
do not bring on the rain.