Waters of the creek Flow from under This bridge hauling Light of this fading Day and its long hours,

In whose shadows I have wandered Among fossil fires Of upturned roots, Between the flakes Shaken from snow Clad firs, through The open grave Of winter into which Sunlight fell all day,

Looking for the word, Which perhaps could Hold everything I want To speak to you:

A brown envelope With your address scrawled On it, covered with foreign Stamps and postmarks, Resonant of those sounds Which don’t mean anything Per se; laughter and weeping.

I have failed. Listen to the waters.