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Letters on the Window - Bao Binh
Soft white light of paper night,
in box full of air.
Typed outside, a final try,
a love laid open there.
You stopped the jokes, the jokes of two,
your hands grew small and pale.
A quiet ache inside your chest,
a tired, fragile tale.
I waited by the silent phone,
I pounded on your door.
You found me with an urgent shame,
and softened once more.
You brought a little living thing,
and slit it on my knee.
A strange request to die in jest,
keep and think of me.
Write me down in morning light,
and send me off with song.
Care for green and tender leaves,
remember where they belong.
If sorrow comes and curtains close,
and stars forget to burn,
love me like a secret bloom,
come back when petals turn.
The days turned slow, the messages,
we snipped it small and thin.
A single line, don't forget,
a note that pulled me in.
Then wise when cold and silence deep,
the world fell out of chew.
A final mail, a trembling line,
beneath the fragile moon.
The words fell soft like winter snow,
my darling, go and live.
These moments were my compass points,
I leave you what I give.
Write me down in morning light,
and send me off with song.
Care for green and tender leaves,
remember where they belong.
If sorrow comes and curtains close,
and stars forget to burn,
love me like a secret bloom,
come back when petals turn.
At night I read the tender lines,
it shook me to the bone.
You called me love, you called me fate,
now fate is on its own.
My tears were loud, my whispers small,
I said a soft goodbye.
A nameless ache, a hollow space,
along a lonesome sky.
Paper closes, window fogs,
the little pot grows thin.
But in the soil a promise sleeps,
the bloom may yet begin.