How to distill desire into a space
more breathless than a sonnet? Twelve keys,
translating longing into my cellphone's
By now you are asleep, lost in dreaming,
unaware of these messages I send you -
my breath's staccato, my semaphore of hope
San serif fireflies, my messages flit
across the cellphone screen,
weaving their arial hieroglyphics.
Incandescent, like your eyes.
I telegraph my verses
one hundred and forty characters at a time,
fluttering text messages, flocking,
a twittering chevron of sparrows.
From these spyglass images you assemble
this my alphanumeric heart: letter by letter,
strophe by strophe, in time with my