from the fourth Book of Nightmares by Galway Kinnell

Dear stranger,

extant in memory by the blue Juniata,
these letters
across space, I guess,
will be all we know of one another.

So little of what one is threads itself through the eye
of empty space.

Nevermind.
The self is the least of it.
Let our scars fall in love.



(This just felt like the thing to post today. No words or images from me today)