Love Letter to a Paper Doll

Smudged by eraser,
blue eyes draw my eyes toward them;
separating us,
the impenetrable glaze
now seems thinner than paper.

Pull me in, I beg,
because I want to forget;
I want to believe
in goodness where it lingers
in the inviting
shadows of your collarbone -
isn't love part of goodness?

In each strand of hair
are the disappointed dreams
of your Creator,
someone who used to believe
in absolute happiness.

If we never searched,
how could we piece together
a thing of beauty?
Its endless forms, its details,
were well taught to us
by the long lifetimes we spent
in frustrated hope.
We learned more intimately
of its changing elements
than did those it touched.
We envisioned every curve,
dipped our tongues in it to taste.

Ugliness exists
to create beauty for us
beyond all comprehension.

I can see the mind
that crafted you from fragments;
I applaud its work:
and while these crisp thoughts march down,
you dissemble; I follow.

Even I construct
sweet, unreal happinesses,
lodging them deeply
in the corners of pillows,
where I press my lips.
I manufacture faces
as lovely as yours
out of adjectives and glue.

Little paper doll,
lie on the grass as you lie;
allow the shadows
to cover up the wishes.
Tell your Maker I love you.