The beginning lines of this poem drifted into my head as I drove to work, and I turned it over and over in my mind until I landed on the (relatively) finished version below:

My Black-Eyed Girl

I wrote a letter to the sky
that ended up in the dead
letter office of your soul that
you frequent, despite your
better judgement. It said

my girl’s eyes are blue like
you on a cloudless day, but
I prefer them dark as night.

When I saw you again, your
eyes had become black and
we fell asleep under kind trees
that became our final home
and blossomed into stars.