Postcard
I would write you
an elegy about love
if I could transcribe the way
your hands would curl silence
around reason, or lend the planes of your
body to eyes, to move over the Braille of me
or then, how your choice would spawn acidity
over sublimation and the wait for perfect ellipses,
because it was the simplest piece for you to play
and even later, when it’s all down on paper
the only surety that can be written is fortune;
so instead I’ll fold these lovers’ notes tiny
and affix them to the top left of you.
- Vanessa Page 2009
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