THE DIFFERENCE OF ONE LETTER

On this blank sheet,

torn from my bedside journal,

I could record

the unshared grievances

and missed embraces.

All the adventures unexplored.

 

And when that page was full

I would fold it –

again and again and again –

until it became a tiny tablet.

 

Then, as you looked away,

I might drop it

into your water and watch

its words dissolve, disperse,

filling your glass

like a love potion.     Or poison.

 

vii. 2024