Envelopes

Puffy ivory mail
whose letters are never opened,
holding secrets none will ever read,
left to ponder their contents,
how many reasons they inspire,
are they homes for UFO’s,
doorways to other realms,
the muse’s marshmallows,
angel’s pillows
or merely white airy formations.

Whatever is written of their essence,
which we can’t decipher
lingers in our fascination
as fodder for our fancy,
perhaps they are God’s dapples of inspiration
meant to keep our minds busy
so we don’t stop noticing
all the other phenomena of nature
we might otherwise miss.

Meanwhile we are blessing to ponder
those lofty pregnant notes of mists
who dance in the sky and capture our attention,
wishing we were birds to kiss their edges,
grateful whoever is using them as correspondence
isn’t sending them postage due.