She keeps his letters
signed with x’s
in a box. They’re from a time
before they married,
had children, when a drink meant
water from the tap
or coffee white with milk.
This one’s her favorite,
laced with sweet talk
that swayed her, signed
oceans of love, a kiss
on every wave. She imagines him
as Edward abdicating, Raleigh
saving the queen’s kid
slippers. Footsteps.
She looks up. The precious letter
flutters to the floor.
He fills the doorway,
the light about his shoulders
like a cape. He’s coming
towards her now
without music. The rain
pours like fountains
from the gutters.