Poems

Tehran letter

this postman left
a bit of sky, a few stars and a little greeting
in my palm
repeatedly returned to number 49
to see where the river-that-isn’t pours
the voice of the bird perched behind the window
poured into the middle of the room
if you open the window
you’ll see the second line
in one of the letters I forgot to say
they came and killed and burnt
they erased that second line
the postman wrote on the envelope
all quiet on the Western Andisheh 2

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