The Letter

I am writing you a letter
with a leaking ballpoint pen
with a handcut quill
with a stick of charcoal
with a dented typewriter

I am writing on paper
and leather
and vellum
and bark

I will tell you what it is like here
among the twisting jungle rivers
upon the ice floes
beneath the city bridges
beside the crumbling pyramids

When I am finished, I will
tie it up with string
seal it with wax
tuck it into a white business envelope
nestle it in a sandalwood box

I will give it to the postman
pay a traveling merchant to carry it
drop it into the ocean in a bottle
fasten it to the leg of a bird

As it travels, it will be
stained by water
marked with a tracking microchip
marred by picked-out stitching that once held it in the lining of a coat
imbibed with the scent of expensive cigarettes

And when at last it reaches you, as you are
crouched in the trenches
rushing for work in the morning
sleeping by the fire
staring restlessly through the blinds

My letter will tell you, wherever you are,
I love you
te amo
je t'aime
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