Dear E. E. Cummings

If I caught a glimpse
of your shadow,
dancing the breeze
whispering through my window,
I would find a way
to dive into the enigma
that fills your mind.

Your eyes were  
always set in
beautiful paradoxes of
the human condition
while we blinkered ours
to the mundane -
moments spent in ignorance of
their importance in the future.

How do you
wake a photograph
with letters,
capturing our essence
in such lucent clarity?

I want to know how
you entwined these words,
for in their
infinite simplicity,
they sound a lot
Llke magic.