March 11, 2009

Love Letters

If I send up enough love
letters, letter by letter,
who is to say
they will not

find purchase, hook like horseshoes
on the edge of the moon,
lodge between the clouds,

like an earring
lost between couch cushions,

linger up there awhile
until a rain
carries them down;

and who is to know
they will not
find you somehow,

mingled with the raindrops, slide
over the sleeve of your coat,
into your shirt cuff;

and who is to say
you will not know
they come from me?

Whoosh!
Here comes another one,
with fondest regards.

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