I wonder if
you keep the letters still,
spidery and blotted
now, like old days
just withered away.
I remember sunlight bursts
that inspired
those winged words,
the spirit of spaces
flying paper aeroplanes of love.
I picture us then --
a perfect summer’s night
calligraphy of stars
burning Indian fire
and I wonder if
you keep the letters still.
Eileen Carney Hulme
