Angst Cycle (i) — Letter

A long time ago
when the trees were learning to be green again
you wrote from a languid, slow summer
saying you would be in England’s grey cold
so soon from now. Unless Australia’s
next season of sun, its summer Christmas,
holds you more than legal bindings,
or that old address is not the place to write,
or the unions repair their broken threat,
Hi!

ancient front