Please Know You've Cheered Me

It's windy in Iowa. 
I wrote this letter weeks ago. 
Months? 


The leaves are packing their bags. 
I've a poor tooth. 
I hate it when dentists talk about 'bone loss.' 
I don't want to become some gap-toothed old fucker. 
Yet how they can spit! 


There's wonderful news after all.
I bring it up the hill to tell it to the mad oak.