the book of poems
came tied up in pink string,
with a little white flower
nestled in the knot. i slowly
slipped it off intact, then wound
it around the jar of my spring
candle that smelled like peonies.
i use green string, myself,
and a wax seal stamped on
the back of the enveloped note
i slip into each parcel, hoping
someone will be able to read
my minuscule script. i wonder
if she slowly slipped the string
off her bundle of books and wound
it around a candle that smelled
of bonfires and all the best of autumn.
i wonder if, in heaven, we shall still
make books of poems and send
them to each other, tied up in
brown paper with green and pink string.
