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My desire to be in sync with him had nearly been my undoing.

This body is all I have, I say. Some days it is still not enough.

In a future we believe in, these plants will all be ghosts.

We hung our posters at the drugstore, at the grocery, at city hall. I tacked up a 1970s Earth Day poster from my mother’s classroom. We tie-dyed shirts, and I bought everyone a plastic visor to paint.

I stood among them as if in a brothel and inhaled the wind.

I will rehearse loss until I feel it coming. Until it’s real.

There is a pure fear, in waking somewhere you have not lain down. She runs until her blisters bleed. Then, she runs some more.

We went. We did. We went to Dead Horse but couldn’t stay.

I seek these ghosts because they allow me to return home outside of time.

I am determined to praise my particular world, so I must praise you.

I can remove my hand the second it becomes too much for me.

Maybe he was preparing for a disaster that would never happen.

I only divine the cat’s location when I hear its small cough.

When I wasn’t teaching social studies, I basically lived on my balcony.

These are notes that please the great heart of man.

Here was rot and immemorial night. And death. Death above all.

We could have everything and still be hurt.

You couldn’t believe what the rhododendrons do around here.