and the sun comes up early
while the moon just sits
in the the sky
watching
i half-remember
my brother told me
to count stars if i couldn't sleep
but numbers are too beautiful sometimes
i clutch my neckerchief with a sadness
that is as big
as i am
and exactly my shape
maybe there is another world
in the stars, where
balloons live after you
release them into the sky
and they have blank
faces drawn on them in marker
and they quietly twitter
great and aching novels
with 160-character-or-less chapters
but here, from my window
i'm going to tie
a letter to a balloon
let it go
and hope
that you get it
