The Letter

by John Stocks

She had forgotten how grand
A letter could be
The soft bulge of the envelope
To be savoured
With the exalting frisson
Of re-kindled love.

And then the opening
The measured unravelling
Unfolded and unfurled;
The old love as solid
As mahogany
Pressed against the soft leather
Of her bureau.

And now the dizzy delight
Of a careful read
Pausing as if to weigh
Each word
With the turn of the page
An electric diffusion
Of memories stirred.

Suddenly she felt the pulse
Of his long-distance love
She gazed beyond the orchard
And the pale sky reeled
The birch trees shivered
With flotillas of clouds
Forming billowing kisses.

She recalled the old cliché
Of love in the springtime
Passing by the fall
And how better to have loved and lost
Than never loved at all.