One year, I spent the summer writing love notes to an invisible woman,
jotting them down on sticky squares of paper,
writing them at different times and posting them
in different places, uncertain about the habits
of a person you can never quite see.
I looked for signs but never found confirmation,
was never quite sure if she’d read them
or even noticed them, but hoped a great deal,
wondering if my words had power, wondering if
they could make the invisible visible again.
I imagined her fading in as she read the first,
fading out as she moved to the next,
and running, desperate to read them all,
from one note to another, faster and faster,
until she flickered quick and bright.
Always out of sight, she faded even further
and my thoughts moved on to other things,
but I know one flash of ghostly light
would’ve sent me carpeting the floors and
papering the walls with the silly, little, yellow things.