She’s writing a long letter
near a skinny window  

paragraphs to a man
she no longer believes  

Her hands shake, she wants
to be direct, but kind  

Sipping sherry stains her lips
her robe a blue puddle  

Earth’s heated spin hums her organs
slow visible fiddle play comes upstairs                            

~ Found poem composed/modified from words in Patricia Fargnoli’s poem “Easter Morning”