Collection Box (day 2920)

In envelopes of my collection box
My heartache rests beside my lover’s hair
Rusted pins and unused pens
Worn well and never used.

Could opening be the end?

I drove a long night
Through windy roads
Of Scotland’s y’Or
Great Bras d’Or,
And long wild grass on feral land:
Swan song I’ll sing again.

Head can see, alighted way
Matchsticks lite Borrower’s torch;
Down a cold tunnel with dripping water.

Lover’s name in a letter she carried.

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