They haunt a country when it is ash. Phantom heart, pray he s alive. I have returned in rain to find him, to learn why he never wrote. I ve brought cash, a currency of paisleys to buy the new stamps, rare already, blank, to buy the new stamps, rare already, blank, no nation named on them. I must force silence to be a mirror to see his voice, ask it again for directions.
Fire runs in waves.
Each post office is boarded up. Only silence can now trace my letters to him. Or in a dead office the dark panes.