The postcard, growing yellow
for so long

No contact
I don't have an address
to do anything about it

Besides, said in thoughts
my words are silting up
with caution

We only share the wind
that covers us

with sand from South
pollen from East, rain from West
and from North the cold comes

Then I pull a sweater
over my heart, stroke
with my fingers

on my one belly
thinking of your hands