The name on the letter, Eurydice

In my restless dreams I see the town,
(sliver of a chance to make it right, fulfill
broken promises), town with the special place
I hold behind clouded eyes, town that
holds the dead in like the last word withheld,
with so much left to say—Eurydice, rising
in dreams, waiting on the silent shore. If a dead
person can’t write a letter, why write back?
Lost, looking for the town, how many roads
like this must I walk, in the fog? In this restless
dream, the hotel looms on the lake--
I wonder if it’s still there—you look
like her a bit—I loved her. In my restless
dreams, we stand forever on the bridge
and make our stand against the mirror below,
holding secrets of an urn awaiting tears,
of a silent town awaiting your voice,
of reflections that feign life, in dream.

Paul S. Rowe is co-editor of The Charles River Journal, published by Pen & Anvil Press in Boston. Paul's criticism, reviews, interviews, and poems appear in Literary Imagination, Pusteblume, The New England Review of Books, PopMatters, FIVE:2:ONE, Eyewear, and Berfrois. Paul teaches literature and writing at Endicott College and Merrimack College and is hard at work editing the novel The Taletellers by Peter Caputo.