Letter

Oh, to be this letter—
You’ll be holding in your hands,
Or to be
A gust of wind, and play
With your hair;
Maybe even someone
Who can see you everyday?
But would I be able to talk?
Walk? Breathe?
Or would I drop dead?
Would you pick me up?
Or jump over my head?
Should I post it and — find out?
Or go finish
My homework instead?

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