There were some communication difficulties which combined to make my reading of a letter almost exactly a year late. Finally reading it was pleasurable, because as a whole entity it felt like a dart through clutter and the content was poetic, whether it was meant to be or not - I suspect not, which makes for better poesy.
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Reading a lost letter
The weight of the written word
came tumbling through time
a sure rod through chaos
words borne by a lost lover
knocked off feet, it took a while
to realise that hope was present
present in the word and so
the reader set about mining
digging away the obscuring dirt
to uncover the hope.
The sheer intensity of the bond
so deeply held, immovable
deep as the regret in the letter
the pedestrian delay, the
frustration present in the mere term,
logistics, obstacles; but even the deep
even the sheer clouds the shafts
of light, erroneous dismissal of simple.
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