Every gift we make

Twelve letters, opened one a month.

Heavy enough to feel like a hug.

The whole party, boxed and ribboned.

Salt, bread, honey, light.

The exact sky, on the exact night.

Point them somewhere lovely.

Posted anywhere, candle included.

A first day that feels considered.

Perfect keepsake gift

Where the day goes to be kept.

Every height, kept in one place.

Hand-rolled edges, painterly print.

Nine tins, one very good month.

Forty cards, twenty of your photos.

Small box, unmistakable point.

For the friend who owns four bitters.

For the colleague whose cables are a crime.