Love Note

Let us hire a hundred planes,
Stuff them with hot cotton smoke,
And write white poetry on the paper of the sky.
Let the ant people on the hot summer beaches look up squinting,
Read feathery descriptions of your lips,
Traced by the sky writers.
We’ll pick a calm noontime,
Sun pressing wrinkles out of the steamy sea,
Sky flat, receptive.
“Love,”I’ll write, and “Mouth,” and silver words.
“Cling,” Ell write, and “Stars,” and oh, don’t worry,
The words will all come easily enough.
It’s the idea that matters.
Then I’ll fly up in the highest plane
And jump and parachute right through
The 0 in the word “love”
And land in your back yard,
And kiss you till your ears fall off.