Letters Unsent

When will your letters

unseal, unfurl—

from knitted bud

into emblazoned meadows,

azaleas resplendent,

ascending,

their lifeblood running wild

through root-stream?

When will moon rivers

meander, then sunder

from placid waters

that veil spry creatures—

into sunburst rays

that spark and flay

hidden embers

in the bare light of day?

Still,

this heavy love

chafes against your ribs,

cloaks its face

from the moonlight

of your soul.

You prune away shadow,

those mourning glory sisters,

damp tendrils entwining

your heart-guarding gazebo.

Yet the orb of oblivion

will always return—

from crescent, gibbous,

to full bloom.

And when the tides swell

under the grand plenilune,

truth, at last, breaks water.

Engulfing the inlet,

unearthed, unholy feelings

surge into

the wild unknown.

So—

where will your letters

unseal, unfurl?

Amidst the juniper berries

of sleepy January,

the almond blossoms

of April’s awakening,

or the blooming jewels

of June?

Could your letters at last

break seal, unfurl

in the eclipse that crowns

August’s dusk,

the solemn straw silos

of September sorrows,

or the ice-deep ravines

of December?

In your letters unsent,

I know that you know—

the sprouting buds whisper it is so;

the earth, turning, sighs it is so.