(i n d e f i n i t e)
The letter opens on a watercolor of columbines. Inside two typed lines:
Happy New Year: I miss your letters. I gather
you’re thriving? God bless.
He signs her name as he always signs it, three fast letters.
One other piece of mail, a postcard, from Madrid.
Antonio Saura, Cocktail Party 1960. Scrawled on the back:
Roses with wrist wide canes, slate steps,
razor blades. Chickens that fly to trees: labels --
May god be gentle with the outcast, before this
she was a spider web, a gambler
in bloom, a winder of crops, a maker
of spirit and jam. She carried water
to mountains in milk cans, bathed
in borrowed tubs, washed with sand.
The sun is a siren on her arm.