wrinkled by a thousand days,
her hands smooth the page of a letter
meant to keep her mind off other matters
the words crawl off the pages
bridging over her fingers
i can see them walking up her arms —
small alphabet ants
broken, trudging, tripping,
she flicks one off
a sentence sails through the space
between us
the emptiness filling for a transitory moment
the syntax climbs to her shoulder
a comma slips, catches itself on a conjunction
i watch helplessly as the words creep into her ear
they’ve certainly reached their target destination by now:
the ridges and canyons of her brain
defenseless against the onslaught of invaders
who tunnel their way deep like a burning seed
melting into the gray matter
pushing tears out of her eyes
manufacturing space for their inevitable spreading
eclipse
of oceans
of thoughts
the drops hit the now blank page
where the words had been kept
it sounds like rain on a puddle
the paper dissolves in her hands
that have grown more wrinkled than before
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