Your letter came today,
a receiving blanket.
The paper so light, I was sure
the envelope was empty.

I observed some ceremony
slicing the edge—sun could have spilled
out, black oil instead. Tar
I wish I hadn’t touched

It got everywhere. First my fingers—
thumb and index covered in it.
Then, I must have touched my face—
Dark stained skin, hair, and there

I read every misspelled curse.
White satin lining,
your letter came today,
The envelope was empty.