Dear one,
I am writing to you
in the sliver of light
falling across the page
so that you can see it.
Our ravens are circling again,
remembering the way
entire planets used to
revolve around them.
The leaves here know
they were stars once, too,
and so they stretch as close
as they can toward the sun,
like this ink stretches across my page,
to you.
Sincerely,
all this dust is so much harder
and softer
than I ever thought
it would be.
McKenna Revel, Mount Sterling