I know a girl who makes kissing friends out of old ones
with a simple, okay
who I can tell, sometimes thinks of herself as a toothpick
even though she is obviously the trunk of a tree
unyielding, her very own stump from which to speak her mind.
This girl sent me a poem about a box full of darkness
which reminded me of a poem about the bread we eat in dreams
I think we will spend many hours exploring our boxes
together, finding little gifts
I think tonight I will eat bread with her in my dream
and begin the work of unpacking.