A Postcard With Birds in the Brush

They feather their way into the mail
tucked between bank statements for me
and day-lily catalogues for the last person
who lived here, died here.

A small thought says even if I wrote this
on the back of my electric bills
and sent it to you, you’d know I’m thinking
of you. Not so much wish you were here
as I wish you weren’t there,
so far away.

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