You write differently now:
Lines are tighter;
And a spattering of
What has remained:
And warmth, honest.
I wouldn’t have recognised you
Any other way.
I do miss, however,
Your beautifully meandering phrases,
That occasional stunning metaphor
You used to employ almost innocently,
Just in passing,
As if it were nothing more than
A silly observation of a dreamy child.
It becomes you. This new style.
So considered, so deliberate.
The arresting immediacy of finger-snaps
More than the comforting captivation
Of distracted finger-drumming
On a coffee table.
I wonder if it is this
That precludes the satin serendipity
I so used to look forward to.
Keep writing, though.
Stay in touch.
Always your reader,