Smoothly, upon the wings of night eagles,
it rises,
and swiftly is carried aloft by the wind

white as stars,
it flutters
before being caught again
then, floating,
before the grey of a new dawn
the wind slows, then is gone
the eagles have vanished, for now

the moon is watching
pale, and marked,
just as this is,
this thing that gently brushes against wet grass
in front of your house

You come out in the morning,
the sun is yawning,
that early
there it is,
crumpled, and scrawled upon
paper

A letter,
from me
to you,

my long lost friend

my words will ever find you,
no matter where we are,
by the night eagles' wings,
or by the afternoon shadows,
or by dreams.