They wrote each other letters
breathless and palpitant, befitting young lovers
which she carefully wrapped in ribbon
placing them in his duffel bag
sitting silently in the garage.
Reaching in, a random note from ‘65 he chose
visible still her lipstick on the seal;
reading it over and over
recalling nights they gave themselves
touching lips to body
the excitment bestowed on one another
in a bed of dark pecan;
visions of hips and fingertips
limbs perfect and trembling.
It was a good life together
abruptly ended by the Fates;
in his hand their passion’s echo
recording the fires once shared
the light now fading in the heavens and in his body.
Returning the missive to it’s place, now sad
he went into the night to change his thoughts
listening to frogs and crickets,
moonlit dragon flies
clacking palms and jacaranda.
An excerpt from “Letters and Visions – Poetry from my Seventieth Year”