I've been walking

upside down on the sky. When I touch

the ground, blue buds like Christmas lights

swell the blue trees. Wide water fills

the driveway with sand. I return

to the geography of it. To the right are two traffic cones,

orange and green. To the left, our road

twists cloud-silver where the carriers go.

All mornings are final. Wind tears away

my flowers' seeds. Winds tear with

their teeth. We use scissors to curl

ribbons. As night arrives on its crown

wheel, I close your envelopes' hinges 

and your letters fall asleep.