The letters I wrote so long ago
tied together in their tattered envelopes
like an oven-roasted brick of fossils.
I was so frantic and so far from you
my panic was restrained to epic
by butterflies and impossibility.
I see the microscope
that was my mind
through the telescope of time.
Archaeologist, astronomer, Odysseus,
I search the rubble of those stars,
find humour in those words.