A Postcard made from Driftwood

Tarot cards, here, somewhere.
A window behind me, like a mirror, showing branches that are not there.
A narrow and forgotten room.
Phone calls that lasted for hours.
I try not to think.
New versions of old songs.
Autumns slip away.
I watch them drift on tides from the sand of this time.
A postcard made from driftwood.