a poem.

The letter
the night
writes to you
with the last drop
of dreams,
(unfinished sentences
disappearing
on crumbling paper)
is addressed
to a grave,
a hole in the ground
where shovels
scoop debris
from past to future,
and the present
is blown away
like the dust
you breathed
standing in a cloud
watching the rubble
the boundary stones
of your life removed.

- Keith Althaus