We are incomplete nature—
we belong to the sperm, not the fish.
A minnow only needs to grow.
We need to wish.
We can wish palpably;
I don’t need poetry
to imagine myself seeking love from you.
Readers of books are inferior
to those who don’t need to read them.
We have trouble admitting this is true.
I put things in the letter
only because I couldn’t come over and do it for you.
Now that I’m gone, you might as well read
what today I will never be able to do.