spirits

A cemetery full of mulberry trees near Wrigley field,
the fingers of the dead are stained purple.

Our lips are stained, too. I gaze at the tight confluence of your jaw
as we lie in the dapple-gray light.

Everyone that we love is the ghost
of a firefly once caught in some glass jar.

summer dreams

I dreamed my sleeves were full of crabs.
I dreamed I went to the doctor
and she told me everything was wrong.
I dreamed that you got married.
The world is made of fragile wires,
I wonder how it holds together.