To the Post Office

You don’t have to go alone anymore,
he said to me,
came out and said it, said it out loud,
said my knotted hurt in a sentence, and soothed it,
slid into my car, rode by my side,
You don’t have to go alone anymore,
he showed me
a decade full
of shared sentences on smooth rides,
my feet on the front dash,
seat slung back,
hand dancing in the wind out of the rolled down window,
You don’t have to go alone anymore,
the words were swept away in the breeze,
he took their place,
until he was the breeze
not there to observe
that I had to go alone again.