Donna Stonecipher

the postcard-
collector’s address

I know the world
only through

form. Mosaic
of views. It is said


toward miniatures.
It is said what is miniature is liberated

from the pretty tyranny
of use. Systematic

kindlers, tonic
postulants, distillations

of the garden
into flat vials, insect’s

Louvre, insect’s
Constantinople, wherever I go

my postcards go
with me. I saw my name

calligraphed on a grain
of rice. I saw the tiara

of spires held
in the pupil’s

dark embrace.
I closed up

the postcards in a jewelry
box where they remain