Maybe I'll become a poet or a famous writer someday
And I'll travel the world and give people
my name in sloppy fonts
They'll tell me how they loved my book
or ask me questions of new work
but
the truth is
that there is only one book
There is only one giant hole
and even if I wanted another
for the sake of new work
there just is no room for that inside of me
Hope laced with the thought that
maybe someday you'll want to roll over to see the sun on my face again
Seeing your name among billions at a hundred miles an
hour
I sit here now and I know that while I am
away, my best work will always be my letters home to you