Postcards Without Stamps

I keep your voice in a pocket of my coat

A little note I never learned to quote

The train lines map the places we won’t be

Yet every station looks a bit like “maybe”

I write postcards without stamps or dates

They sit in drawers like softly closed gates

No big confession, no dramatic scene

Just simple words that know what you mean

If you’re out there under unfamiliar skies

Know I’m okay, just tender when the day light dies

I’m not chasing—only tracing what was true

In the quiet shape of all I learned from you

The ocean wind is cold but kind to me

It rinses thoughts like cups of chamomile tea

I watch the sunset spill on borrowed sand

And feel your absence hold my open hand

One day I’ll laugh and it won’t hurt at all

Your name will sound like footsteps down a hall

Until then, I’ll travel light and slow

With love I can’t return, but still can hold