Postcard

—For Magen 

I debated hours, whether to send you a kiss 
by the river or the overabundant lips 
of a Rosetti madonna. You get both: See 
the pansies the madonna holds? That’s how I know
she thinks of the kiss I kept for myself. 
Lately, even the most casual touch makes me 
flinch, but I find my fingers linger too long 
on every light switch. Is everything a metaphor
for something else? It’s hard not to see 
waking adored one morning and alone the next
as one more reason why life is ridiculous. 
I am angry and confused to know there are people
who love me, until I think of you. You 
are the friend I remember with hosannas and 
crossed fingers. Please send me a beautiful picture
with nothing but ten outrageous words 
written on the back. As always, yours.