Unanswered Letters

1919

It is almost a memory,
the tuberculosis,
and soon I will be
leaving the sanatorium.

Milena,
the letters you send
are the most beautiful thing
that has happened in my life.

I wish you would write in Czech,
so that I might taste your native tongue
and see a clearer image of you
and the movements of your body.

I want to envision your hands,
so quick and determined,
it is as though we are face to face,
but,

when I raise my eyes
to look at you,
to try and consume your loveliness,
the letter turns to fire.

I am intrigued by your intensity,
as I lean back, drink your words,
oblivious of everything except
my undying thirst.

You are like a spinning top.
I long to know what moves you,
but each time I reach out,
you die in my hands.

For months we have written,
but never met, years between us
keep us apart and,
I know that it will never be.

It is truth, and it rests there,
behind all of your letters,
in the paleness of your eyes and
in the stillness of your body.

I have written to you, longing
to hear your irresistible voice,
but I have been struck by silence,
my letters unanswered.