I was wondering if the scarf made last year
feels warm and soft to your neck
holding above the chin I have bitten and kissed
if the Victorian blanket I knitted
covers well your knees
the ones I caressed when they were sore and bruised and bleeding
if you’re still listening to
the carol I sang in a lower key
after I cried and cried with my arms in a knot around your waste on that platform
if you are growing the tulip bulbs I’ve sent you
in a row in a bunch or in a pot?
are the reds mixed randomly with the yellows?
if on our chess board
my queen has yet taken
has the sorrow in your heart
been replaced with the
of a party balloon?
every word you send me is a secret silver bullet fired under a full moon
this is our cozy underworld
the rest is nothing