...the sudden thought that wishes people
throw down a well will only be heard
by darkness at the bottom, a little clink if it's dried-up
prayers sent to the sky is only heard
to Him,
lost things are only found by those who seek its' presence again.
may these anecdotal impulsive-induced words find you thinking fondly of me for a bit.
it would be more intimate of me to write you a letter with pens and papers,
perhaps then i could ask around for your address and
buy stamps for 80 cents at the dying post office next to the highway
to post you a sealed scarlet letter filled with
longings and let you know how much coins i threw in the well
or if you prefer to look at the sky
and wonder,
i'll let you in to the things i attached your names to up there...
