Quiet Paper
Oleh: J
I could write you the last letter
with a dead pen split in my hand,
caught by the sober
drought out into the land.
I write you the last letter,
once as exquisite as your presence,
through the sky that gets wider
and the loud that gets more silence.
I wrote you the last letter,
prevent me from your biggest scar;
perhaps once you dive into the highest sky,
read out loud the perfect goodbye.