an autumn letter
 
from a friend I’ve known for years–
 
blue ink, white paper

 
 
 

Written in cursive,
 
my letter to my grandson
 
is a dead white rose.

 
 
 

An overdue book,
 
a love letter never mailed—
 
autumn ends too soon.

 
 
 

Unfurled umbrella—
 
I go to post a letter
 
in the winter rain.

 
 
 

Sorting through the mail,
 
I come across your letter,
 
fragrant as ripe plums.

 
 
 

An overdue book,
 
a love letter never mailed—
 
winter comes too soon.