Letter to Joe w/ enc.
Dear Joe, I enclose
two dollars and fifty cents
of pre-paid envelope to stuff
with any goddamned thing
the way the moon pried
open last night's sky
or Catherine's smile
split the morning light
or even love, which is just
the way we hold everything,
grief and fear as well as
joy, the mystery squirming
in our embrace. Walking
the dog I saw for the first time
yesterday the way
pine cones grow,
straight up, perched precariously
at the center of each branch,
army green, they looked
like soft grenades that might
explode at my touch.
Dear Joe, I enclose
two dollars and fifty cents
of pre-paid envelope to stuff
with any goddamned thing
the way the moon pried
open last night's sky
or Catherine's smile
split the morning light
or even love, which is just
the way we hold everything,
grief and fear as well as
joy, the mystery squirming
in our embrace. Walking
the dog I saw for the first time
yesterday the way
pine cones grow,
straight up, perched precariously
at the center of each branch,
army green, they looked
like soft grenades that might
explode at my touch.
more pynchon poetry here