Dear,

The truth is that nothing is out of reach until you place it there, that mountain you passed through by fingering a hole deep inside, the light that broke up the dark path which returned you home, to a safer place. Were you hungry on your journey? Did you pack light? Or was the point to consecrate heaviness to the mountains you can no longer write of. So beauty worn are you.

Your reach, now far removed, and I am here listening to the steam rise in my kettle. Soon I will drink tea and warmth will be returned to the circumambient body. In this room, I can reach everything.

Can I reach you?

Love,