We all
find calm
where we can fake control—
a postbox taped shut
a red shovel scoop
a body turned to snow
a soul sinking
back to sea.

It’s not the scene
that matters—
but the reflex of return
muscle memory for mercy.

Some stay
afloat by sinking
others walk in full
scuba toward a post office—
with mail
undelivered
but chuckles in tow
or polite laughter—
even trauma
learns to tread lightly
when stamped
via Air Mail.