In a heavy way
I do not understand this drought in letters
Like a stream in Death Valley
I have been writing a lot of poetry
Perhaps they are letters to myself
For loneliness has touched me in a heavy way
Sometimes I hear footsteps
And I know that the mail is being passed out.
I pretend not to notice, not to hear,
But I notice, I hear
And there’s no love passed out today
For my stream as run dry without warning
