Every gift we make

Twelve letters, opened one a month.

A tasting tour in six squares.

Heavy enough to feel like a hug.

The whole party, boxed and ribboned.

Salt, bread, honey, light.

Nine lamps, hand-painted this week.

The exact sky, on the exact night.

Point them somewhere lovely.

Posted anywhere, candle included.

Forty hours of somewhere else.

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.

Three moods, one shelf.

Nine tins, one very good month.

Forty cards, twenty of your photos.

Small box, unmistakable point.

Twelve hours, no effort, perfect coffee.

Warm light that knows when to dim.

Two pots, thrown by one pair of hands.

Real crema, no power required.

For the friend who owns four bitters.

For the colleague whose cables are a crime.

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