Dear Ellie,
I was only serious when I said to send postage.
Your mother's tongue dries around the cats you brought off the streets
and your brother stole the room you'd rather gaslight.
I can still see you riding in on street corners whose light never concerned you,
so you won't have to make the bed you never sleep in.
I was only speaking when I said goodbye, tuned in and out by the radio wires wrapped inside your skull.
Your visits bring back more than packages wrapped in twine.

Walking on stilts and stepping over homeland;
you must grow dizzy from the way the world spins.