A short note, a map, directions
crumpled and tucked away
black ink, now, faded against linen paper
now, fading paling gray against ivory

folded, unfolded over and over many times
between finger and thumb, splitting along
the darkened seams, crackling to my touch
three words never, never received unsigned

hot bold-line words burn under my fingers
tracing a line out of town to the highway
the train depot an aborted and lost life
driving the river road, touching the past

the note, worn thin as ice, to you from me,
kept forty years