Postcard Day

<br>My eyes are white circles above cheekbones on fire:<br><br>Pale hand gripping my pen.<br><br>Rounding up to the zero, adding infinite fractions,<br><br>Letting nine become ten.<br><br>Two pink doves strut the shingles<br><br>Picking crumbs from the breakfast I saved<br><br>For you dear. and I wish you were here<br><br>On this postcard day.<br><br><br><br>Focus on the fine indeterminate line<br><br>Where the sky meets the sea.<br><br>Desperate midweek words, banal and absurd<br><br>Freely flow out of me.<br><br>Well, I may be a hostage to summer<br><br>But Im a hostage, not a slave.<br><br>And Im clear that I wish you were here<br><br>On this postcard day.<br><br><br><br>Precious cargo of flotsam: mixed memories on an ocean tide<br><br>Swim madly with spice from the orient<br><br>On a mystery watery carpet ride.<br><br>But with the sun going down, the wind goes around;<br><br>Blows them back out of mind.<br><br><br><br>My eyes are white circles staring down past the point<br><br>Of my restless pen.<br><br>While the ghosts of my youth all sworn to the truth<br><br>Call my name again.<br><br>Two brown legs dont make a summer.<br><br>But two brown arms couldnt keep me away.<br><br>Well, my dear, I wish you were here<br><br>On this postcard day.