At dusk 
there’s comfort in a staggered row of lit-up doorbells  
cars stuffed in parking lots like sardines 
the neighborhood prepares for a new week to begin  
I’ve been writing letters by hand  
Trees are shedding 
leaves loosely hang on 
like ghosts of heavy fruit 
rust, yellow, scarlet 
Isn’t it amazing how words, a few scribbles on a piece of paper, can change your whole life?  
High-pitched barking, muffled from inside  
raindrops as fine as pinpricks 
You’ve left an impression on me like a watermark 
it’s getting too dark to read it  
A cluster of mailboxes lit up, a beacon 
a deserted island 
the air turns minutely cooler
the smell of chalk and dirt  
the rattle of a lone car down a country road