Well you know Jacqueline—things are fine, things are shit,
nothing new there—if you wonder why I am writing this letter
I guess it’s ‘cause I know you, love you, to talk to you, see you—
and ‘cause you’re a world away, paper allows me to say hello,
to say a lot of things.
As children, I remember your laughter every time I would say your name,
your scarlet hair and how you would shake your head and unleash
a fountain of it — like an actress of immortality. Guess we need some
of that right now—guess that’s why I’m writing—you ‘midst mountains,
‘midst cloudscapes writing the most beautiful places—could you find some
and send me some—I’m sending this letter ‘cause I need something, a reply
that some will escape and come back in an envelope with your return address—
a message in a bottle from the cloudlands, washed onto these salty shores.
You, who I am sure are in every beautiful place, please reply.
My reasons wait by the inkpot ready to leap to paper when I hear from you;
I will explain to you everything I thought I knew and now know is not true;
I am certain you will return to me in an envelope from the land that dreams are made of,
your postmark a kiss from far away—‘cause I think we could use a little of that right now.

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