Postal

Letters get damaged
Or perhaps misplaced
Not a job of theirs
To ensure security
They know nothing
Of waiting or doubt
Perhaps a dog ran by
Took a scrap of cloth
Chasing away hope
From little boxes
In the darkest fringes
Do words become lost
Or perhaps camouflaged
A study from the porch
would better discern
But the waiting is droll
Suns, Moons, rain, dust
Damp envelopes kill hope
Blurry ink dismisses intent
Confusing contextually
Until it was forgotten
How it all started again
Better to pick up a phone
Than to wait for the mail