Letter to the Commander at dusk
Commander, the mounts you requested have been reaped from the plains, and riders, they’ve taken their names from the dowsing hat you gave to us. Bonded, they are now like wind, ready for the message you seeded in them.
Our thanks abound for the draftsman planner given to lay our map upon the encampment, saying where the rivers run and the hills swell above first sight. The sky you imagined is a perfect azure blue, making easy contemplation of the book.
I confide in you, certain doubts about the buttons, learning to uncover quiet voices like you always said would be our companion in this time of peaches turning their faces ripe and sweet. Honestly, you’ve become better song in my listening ear.
Like you said, the words are light. Like you said, we are the words.
More to be drawn upon the dawn. We ride!
neil reid © october 2012
I used to have a clever answer to the riddle, what’ya write when you have nothing to say? This ain’t so clever, but more immediately honest anyway. And right now, if I didn’t write this, I wouldn’t write anything at all.
It kind of responds to two different prompts: write a letter poem and write from another identity. It’s both symbolic, yet more specifically real than might first be imagined. Although the writer’s identity is unspoken here. You can fill that in if you wish, at least to a few faces I think.
Are symbols real? Within the reality here, yes.
And everything I write these days, they’re all drafts, not yet home.