Cher Maitre, how long ago it seems since last I wrote…
And so it goes on. A spark, a flash of powder,
the little peace around the duellists’ mighty argument,
a puzzled look into what the dawn
is doing with the night’s last stars.
Yes, you see, there it is again –
the thing that always intervenes, that obdurate,
inveterate and immense distraction – life.
You glance up; thwarted, hesitate; look back down.
It glittered, like words half said and sense
half made, but, as ever, soon afterwards
the instant came for it. When it glittered again,
you didn’t glance up and, like most things, then,
it slept, lying its head between
the letters I never wrote, and the letters I’ll never write,
and the letters I’ll never read, and the letters I never read.

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