Your letters
do not serve the purposes
you think they do.
They call attention to the distance
that grows between us
each instant you are away.

They remind me
of what is missing
in a way
that solitude
emptiness
and silence do not.

Your letters scream out your absence
and though I love them
I cannot bear to read them
while you are away.

When you return
we shall pull out a corkscrew
and a knife
and open those tools
which will allow us to acclimate
into each other
– something that I hope
I need not spell out