December 23, 2014
Your Letter
comes at Christmas
and joins the ones
already in the garage
in a shoe box,
fading like
the dreams of children.
Your words
tell of a bountiful corn crop
and summer dances,
silent birds,
snow-covered fields.
I see your handwriting,
hear you laugh
splashing in the stream,
running on yellow leaves
through the naked woods.
Now I know why you cried
in your sleep.
Félix Calvino