The porch lamp hums at half past four
The mailbox groans beneath its store
She threads each page through flap of blue
And seals the words she never knew
She hears the hinges lift and fall
A paper ghost leans through the wall
The mailbox holds what she can't say
As dawn is climbing up the gray
The paper bends beneath its weight
While sealed-up names outlive the day
Her coffee cools beside the stove
The red wool gloves are warm from use
The envelope trembles in her hand
Like a moth against the band
At midnight, sealed beneath the sill
A small blue ribbon guards her will
The mailbox holds what she can't say
As dawn is climbing up the gray
The blue flag lashes the waking line
Each stamp is dust, each fold a sign
Maple branches claw the wire
Three white knocks interrupt the choir
Inside, the paper stacks like snow
On a hard-worn kitchen floor
One photograph shows porch and green
Her absent shoes stand crisp and clean
The mailbox holds what she can't say
A brass key rattles in the lock
Her pulse beats time beside the clock
A last white page begins to shake
Like wings the darkness cannot take
A red flag burns against the gray
A truck sputters down the lane
The milkman rattles once again
She folds the last page, clips it black
And listens till the hinges crack
Her palm burns red beside the latch
Daylight inches through each crack
The mailbox finally knows her name
As sunrise enters through the frame
The last white page begins to move
Now every word is loose with love
She lifts the red flag from the black
And sends her sorrow racing back
