Tune for a Found Harmonium

You dumped the mail on my notebook, dear,
and then remembered you’d seen it around
and helped me find what I was so sore

in need of. I am still right here;
you wouldn’t be seeing me like this if I’d drowned
in the mail you dumped on my notebook, dear—

most of my behavior from flat fear,
kite blown to the ground;
but you helped the wind

grab my kited head by the hair,
and you empowered it securely to impound
all that mail that you dumped on my notebook, dear;

and now, no matter how low I steer,
I never cease to astound
myself by finally finding what I was so sore

in need of—just it and nothing more.
You lost my notebook for me so that it could be found
again by dumping the mail on it, my dear,
and made my heart soar.