A Package Arrived Today

A Package Arrived Today

A package arrived today winking at
my front door, a brown cardboard box,
fiber tape around the perimeter, my name,
my address,
my zip code. I forgot to open it.

While the sun shines my mood melts into
golden reflections that are obscured
by the winter rains. I still wish I could see
you
again.

The box was filled by human hands, there is
no doubt.
And yet, you have been gone so long, I hoped it
had been sent by angel mail, settling on my porch
with your voice, your laugh, even your tears inside.

And still the sun has not changed. I wrestle,
then reflect, then take a glass of chardonnay
standing erect between my pear and cherry trees
feeding me, shading me, telling me their secrets of
how many tongues have tasted their sweet inventory.
I passed a lemonade stand on my way home.

The sweat cooled my forehead, shadow and breeze;
the dogs followed lawnmowers across open fields and
I,
I hoped the box held something immaterial that would
permeate the losses of the years. I wonder

If the trees know more than they let on.
I wonder if the cherries can tell the difference
between the mouths old men living and young loves
too soon gone. And I taste one

Before I open the box, unwrap the plastic inside,
and, with the nectar still on my tongue,
hope to find the explanation within.