Source

In the brain, a silver window

Where the sky evaporates—

Then condenses to an enveloped name

Sealed with an unsigned letter.

Dickinson’s house: a breeze coming from the inside

Sounds bury themselves deep in the woodwork.

When a Scholar pauses by a closed door

She may not be listening to the music, but to the door

What lingers in the letter, loosening or found

Sky-name—wood-wind—syllable—sound