Sometimes, I feel like being a magician.
I’ll open my box full of wonders and curiosities, and I’ll pull out the stacks of old birthday cards that I have received throughout the years.
I’ll fan them out like a deck of 52.
If I had you pull out a card, I’d already know who it was by the way that your hand hesitated to touch it.
He writes his love on postcards, and she writes hers on lined paper.
You see, guessing who the cards are from is the easy part.
Making them reappear is what I haven’t mastered.