this is my right foot, the left one having been run over
 still you aren't here
 and the mailbox stands crooked
 at the end of the uneven drive
 I've shored up the porch
 am starting to lay in some
 cordwood for winter
 more than the oncoming cold
 I notice the ache of your absence
 looking again for the mailman
 to maybe stop here, just this once,
 with something that isn't a bill
 knowing he won't
 still looking up
 at the sound of the engine
 now off goes this note
 after all of the others
 to collect in a pile on your desk
 saying things you already know
 that the cold's coming on
 and I'm still waiting here
 for the sound of your voice
 	-acm  (3/97)