I look at the window, boarded

Up with nails, once shiny now a dull copper.

 

I flitch as the letter

Falls through the slot,

 

Pushing the dust away as it lands.

I pick it up, I trace the lettering,

​

The sway of them,

Through the trembles.

 

I open it. Careful. With a butter knife.

I take it out, 3 millimeters per minute.

 

I unfold it. I close it.

I drop it to the floor. It unfolds itself

 

Over my foot.

I pull on the string overhead to

Stop the flicker.

 

I crouch over the paper

And read. Atoms between

 

The eye and the ink.

If there’s tears, I'll catch them.

 

I won’t give them to gravity.

I won’t move for a century.