The Sandbar

Inside the promise of night,
I gave your letters to the river.
I could not read them anymore.
The ink too heavy on the page,
the paper white with heat —
I had nothing left to lift them
with and nothing left to scar.
So, I dragged my ghost north
to where the Mississippi
and Missouri meet and found
a small sandbar; it was there
I gave them all away
and where I knelt to wash my heart.

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