Thanks

The ocean’s bottom is crossing
somewhere tonight as your hand
crossing this kitchen table.

It’s the exact same thing.

Turn that only lamp off
so this room is entirely October.
There. Thank you.

What a precarious place
envelopes occupy these days.

Perhaps all paper is endangered.

We watch wind crossing the street
to reach the convenience store where kids shop,
then the cemetery where they sit.

It is one beautiful process beyond us.

Leaves, cast about, show us wind’s footprints.

Sounds of paper scratching at the world.

That’s what I listen to, falling asleep.

I place an oak leaf in the envelope coffin.

I mail you this oxymoron,

“delicate bronze.”