I have tried to blend your letter with my existence. Still the image that arrived had been brittle and contrived such as, the northern winds.
We have been two infinities of an ill mended collage.
A door unhinged. Your words fall to the ground…dripping and unglued.
There is no room left for family in the tree.
From a dead end branch to another…there can be no integrity.
But as your letters come and go…
I had hoped you would learn to spell…