Most of Us Accept Namelessness

Dear B.  

‘I received your letter yesterday       about the time the doorknob broke’        ‘the beautiful uncut hair of graves’       the carpenter ants guarding the heavy headed peonies        and the eternal labor of grief. 
It’s April again and you are still my favorite hominid. Speaking of  homophones        are you wandering       the handsewn forest or following ‘the last bright routes’ of the tree of life        up along the branches to a clearing of sky. Have you discovered which ghost plucks the stitches like chords or who pecks the earth again and again. Swarming. Starlings. All. 
Sometimes I think I am a paper blue sun in your collage. Shake the hourglass. When was the last time we picked our way through the black huckleberry of the understory. 
Remember when you stepped up and over the uprooted cottonwood without looking and landed upon the neck of a copperhead. I miss you again. And again. 
Don’t take me the wrong way. I love u-turns       don’t you. But seriously       when was the last time you marched to the stage without stopping       or when was the last time you opened your mouth to sing       or when will you kiss me. 
Are you living on passive income     somebody buy stationary!       or on the hopes and dreams of the attention economy. 
When you shower in the morning       do you let your heavy hair dry into evening.  Do you cut away each day from every other day. Is love the work       we revise through repetition       make real       through repetition. Or would you prefer love to be the threshold we step over and over. 
Is the third beginning the gospel or the litany. Have we lost count. Did you borrow my garden shears. Briarpatch. Briar patch. Please.
Please.       I think      to know.       Don’t we all. Are you       (already or/and  always)      too wounded       too numb       to begin again.       Are you ready for May. Are you wearing white.       Where are your ‘red shoes’       Should we picnic among accidental daffodils and the headstones again.        My beautiful rabbit.       ‘Every little soul must shine.’       Don’t look. It’s too early for watermelon. The white van is here. 
I am sorry. I found the wheelbarrow and the keys.