I put each one of your letters in the river
.
It was morning and the sky was quite clear
when I trudged through two feet of untainted white
down the streets and all the way to the edge of the embankment
.
A long sheet of snow not yet tread on
and several dozen yards across
stood between me and the water
.
I never meant for you to read these, really
At the cold, churning edge of the rivulet I scanned each letter
quietly to myself, handwriting done in pencil
.
I don’t know how to love you either, if I am honest.
Despite this, I have tried to, even when you’ve been cruel,
that is the difference between us
.
Down the stream the pages billowed one by one until
each snagged and rounded against a rock
below the waters surface their words fade and they glisten like snow
recent 