Poetry Friday: Not Here, Exactly by Joanna Fuhrman

I found your letter
in the pocket

of a borrowed goat.

It showed me
the way-

small as an eye.

One mountain tried
to taste another,

then spit it out.

Your letter called
all the other letters

“friends.”

You too were
my friend,

soft as a melting
or melted nail.

Dear little cage,
dark plum.

- Not Here, Exactly by Joanna Fuhrman

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