Raku Letter

Mildewed edges show time's passing
graying paper, freshness gone.
No inked return address denotes
a time of hand delivery, a slower,
if not gentler era.
No sleight of hand occurred
the envelope remains unreceived,
contents mysterious, unknown.

Whose lightly licked lips
Produced the tongue that sealed –
forever – the words within?
What were those words?
Dear John, a tryst proposed,
an outpouring from the heart,
secrets revealed, or merely,
an invite to a vapid social function.

The envelope is fired in ashes
its contents now irrevocably lost.
For, never opened, it became written dust
that sparked no raw emotions, searing
thoughts, nor burning passion,
only the future musing by any observer
of what might have been, whose
life might have been, like the envelope,
transformed.