the postcard

you miss the postcard,
with art on front.
a carousel, or bird in flight,
the letter, with words formed
in ink by your own hand.
the blotted spots
of blue as you dotted an I,
or swung a comma around
to continue on another line.
the crossed out words,
what were they, now
darkened in tight squares.
the postage stamp licked
and pressed to the corner.
the salutation, farewell,
or love, in script before
you signed your name.
such love and intent went
into it, not like this
cold keyed email, or text
we casually send.