just that the mist

 although the flecks on her skin this was not a letter

we floated the dented mailbox down the river as if to say 'what you will'

just the wistful birds that wind easily into tunnels, fiercer /

& the concentration of years & the taste of beets, crushed
what will become of you, the pale lettering, you harbored against the wall of the train track apartment

            finally, the land is given
                        but the part should stay