Long Distance by Jennifer Copley
that no one can see but you.
I will throw them onto the backs of crows
where they will cling on carelessly
but get to you quite safely.
If there are no crows available
I will seal them to the spots of ladybirds
or stitch them to the scarf of the gypsy
who wanders the globe with his ten children
and faithful horse, Dolly, of the magical hoofprints.
Failing these, I will weave my words
into the carved curls of a figurehead
on the prow of some great sailing vessel
bound for wherever you are,
and one morning in the future,
when you wake in your loft apartment,
my vowels and consonants will sweep
through your open window like rain.