Dear John

I am redirecting your focus. I didn’t think through everything all the way
and now we are here at the corner of perceiving and disbelief. To touch
is a love language only sacrificed for the future. Will there even be one,
more in the sense of all Earth is dying by the hands of madmen pedophiles
who bomb and kill for profit than in the sense of the imaginary Us.
The pope said today he is unafraid of those in power, he is from Chicago after all,
we Midwesterners know a thing or two about fear. Do you ever miss the snow?
I only do in my dreams. I know that I love you because even when I am annoyed
you still make me laugh and that alone is something. A nervous system planted
seed cornfield-esque and knee high by July. In this subjective time perspective,
my time horizon never ceases. Every season, a new reason to believe in anything.
Summer is here and also on the way, a simultaneity I do not take for granted.
Look over there, even in the dark, a ripple of leaf so perfect it breaks my heart.