Poem-A-Day: Day 237

Mailbox Dilemma

Second guess two steps past
and drop the envelope
into sea green fingers from a hand
reaching out from within itself.

There, the hand moves
and becomes hands, sprouting fingers
each more elaborate than the first,
and almost twice as long.

The envelope swoops in strides
and trickles water dreams
into the teardrop moments 
and fearful brainless billowing.

Handsome, the brainless cold
walks through doorway moments,
slamming each next, right before the first
before retreating to the dark.

The fingers reaching out are memories,
not just everyone’s, but all have lost track
of the time passing down within the envelope,
as it rests on the ground, forgotten.