You are a dead man
writing me a letter
Your sunglasses are beside you
on the square table
on the green felt
You write carefully
sentence after sentence
to make your meaning clear
The meaning is
that you are dead
dead with hope
dead with spring
dead with the blurred hummingbird
dead with the longing
to shine again
in details of the past
And you are tied to your death
with hope
with the hope of sliding out
from under your death
and then to stand
and brandish a scar
in the palm of your hand
like an invitation to the next ordeal
You pass the night
with the source of your death
trying to praise it
trying to sell it
trying to touch it
Your death is fine with me
It has given you
the beautiful head you wanted
the face with good lines
and even though
you cannot inhabit this skull
I can and I do
and I thank you
for the deep heroism
of your useless correspondence.