I found your letter
in the pocket
of a borrowed goat.
It showed me
the way—
small as an eye.
One mountain tried
to taste another,
then spit it out.
Your letter called
all the other letters
“friends.”
You too were
my friend,
soft as a melting
or melted nail.
Dear little cage,
dark plum.
Originally published in The Year of Yellow Butterflies (Hanging Loose Press, 2015). Reprinted with permission of the author.
We have been friends together, In sunshine and in shade; Since first beneath the chestnut-trees In infancy we played. But coldness dwells within thy heart, A cloud is on thy brow; We have been friends together— Shall a light word part us now? We have been gay together; We have laugh'd at little jests; For the fount of hope was gushing Warm and joyous in our breasts. But laughter now hath fled thy lip, And sullen glooms thy brow; We have been gay together— Shall a light word part us now? We have been sad together, We have wept, with bitter tears, O'er the grass-grown graves, where slumber'd The hopes of early years. The voices which are silent there Would bid thee clear thy brow; We have been sad together— Oh! what shall part us now?
This poem is in the public domain.