The Miles of Yesterday.
                                         Letters to Susan.

               There was a world
               some summers ago--
               another senseless epoch
               reacting, again, alone on instinct.
               I feel meaning that I may never know.
               
               White rectangle words,
               singularities in the void,
               as time irreversable marches on--
               whirling, expanding space-time--
               gone but never destroyed.
               
               I remember myself then
               as yourself do you alone.
               A destiny passed;
               unspoken thoughts of familiear feelings;
               the other never known.
               
               And what can I do now
               as we both suffer of life's strange way,
               the very same we love.
               Friends, close as the mail flies,
               but forever distant as the miles of yesterday.




copyright Michael R. Martin, 1996
all rights reserved