The Letter (Ii) Poem by Jacqui Thewless

I’m stepping out today.
Climbing the hill
before these clouds
empty. The sky
tilts
as though June were now November
though
stalks are green.

I’m wearing the beret of
most tender wool, the colour black.
So much like fur.
I’m walking, not talking at all.
In deed the words

I have been trying to say
have just become
a letter fall-
ing in to a
box.
It’s possible you won’t hear them
though you read them.