I do imagine you opening my letters. I picture the garden I haven’t seen and the bench you must be sitting on and the people passing you by, and I wonder if you’re mildly irritated about not being able to take your gloves off to touch the paper because it’s too cold dammit. I decide you won’t be. I also decide you don’t finish reading a letter because the cat has to be fed and I am oddly comforted by this interruption. You might write to me to say you didn’t finish it, and you might not write when you finally do. (This happens to us, no?)

Meanwhile, I’m looking out, looking up at the trees that create the expanses in our heart and make everything possible.

From Love Song by Denise Levertov

Love is a landscape the long mountains define
but never shut off from the unseeable distance.
In full in full
Your trees stretch their long arms
In sleeves of earth red and sky yellow.
I take long walks among them.

Hastily scribbled down while listening to this audio recording.
To be sent — soon.

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