A vision.

There's a pause in between what I know and don't.
Do you write words in your mind?
I know you well enough to know something is gone.
I sit cross legged and hope for brilliance
as you take the breaths your mother gave you.
The moon stole your face and you thanked it
in a letter you have yet to send.
I decided to build you an airplane
out of Popsicle sticks and glue
and the feathers that make your pillow.
I hope its the thought that counts.
i never thought of how you count yourself to sleep.

Someday when you're a mother you'll see
the kites sailing towards the sky
and the envelope I attached to the end,
and the words that make up the tail.
They'll dangle for our daughter to read but she won't understand
until its seemingly too late,
but really just in time for a child of her own.