for Annie

Anchorage we’ve never met
But I write to your daughter often
& she loves her mother well
I imagine your skies are low
Your buildings scraping them with ease
Your children reaching up their fingertips
To poke holes in the firmament
Is this how stars are made?
Your streets must be sunlit & not warm
Exactly but layered—soft flannel
Lined with cotton & down
Wool socks & sturdy boots
Anchorage
Everything I think I know of you
Is secondhand
The stories your daughter tells
Dripping from the pages of her letters
Someday I hope to meet you
& your whole extended family
All your peaks & valleys
We’ll discuss cycles & infinity
The mathematics of good food & long walks
Our philosophies mingling like ice & whiskey
Our memories & laughter joining
Like ink & spit
Tattooing maps on our knuckles