Reconstruction of Unsent Letters

confession: it’s not so much that I can see my face reflected

    in the darkness                   of the page but it’s still too easy to

               forget myself. my grip tightening

while I bleed – inky-black from my fist – oozing broken streams

                                                                                 in rivulets that seep

                                        into the creases of my fingers &

stain my hands – I press          palms to the page

            & push down on inked-in confessions and notes – hands

     overlapped. I steal the life back

from them. grasp

                           at words & uproot letters that no                longer

            elude me – spill out – wriggle –

                                                                      squirm across

the page like                tiny     little     medusae.

                       I squint down at          them & feel

                                           their slowing heartbeats as they undulate

to the rhythm – count

                                      their waning numbers

                        when I trace their shapes

into the paper & smudge                    them into blurry edges. they hiss

                       broken fragments of things

            at me              & the moon’s crescent slashes them with shards

of crystalline light before cavernous black, ripe

                       with leftover imprints,            swells              over characters

                                                       once more – I wipe at letters with the edge

                                  of my sleeve & smooth

            out crumples in the paper. but I

                        have become well-acquainted with the topography of this page, so

it could only be                that this time, I, myself, will become

                        the architect. And

as I fold it in over itself – drag my nail along the edges          of the crease – seal my thumb

                                   against the center in a kiss – I swing the pendulum and

           ask,

                  yes or no?