Eileen Carney Hulme Poems

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I wonder if
you keep the letters still,
spidery and blotted
now, like old days
just withered away.

I remember sunlight bursts
that inspired
those winged words,
the spirit of spaces
flying paper aeroplanes of love.

I picture us then-
a perfect summer’s night
calligraphy of stars
burning Indian fire

and I wonder if
you keep the letters still.

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