Dear Beautiful Woman in New York City

When the Yosemite sun goes down
sometimes I’ve gone to a stone bridge across the Merced River.

Where there’s a night feeling
between those night trees
along with whatever else fills the sky.

And your letter filled in the gaps this time.

While I sat on the stones
reading with a borrowed light
in the wind sound with a river down below.

Then on my way home, I wondered
if you’d written it

At a table or on your knees …