dear friend in canon city
I bring red clouds. And brown clouds. And grey clouds.
Old trucks in the rain. My furnished room over dead street. Breakfast and hot coffee in the shadows of a cold Saturday morning.
I tuck a handwritten message for you in a paperback. I search wool coats for the scent of your hair. Sound of door closing, high heels across the hardwood floor. Grey light of day through the frosted glass.