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.