Dear Emily,
She conjured up
ghosts for me
and left them in the alley
haunting the exits.
The cold wind blew my hair into my mouth
as I touched a poet’s
velvet patched elbows.
Another perfectly
written scene.

We were all each other
each artist,
Falling all over the words
slipping from patterns of time
prompts picked from the spaces
between ribs that we love
and build ships from.
Threading thoughts along
until sharing with mouths
forced wide
diaphragms raised over the din of voices and pans.
We all secretly wish you could be there,
Maybe not every
time, but often enough
I imagine I can hear someone say
Dear Emily,
Did you hear that line?!
Dear Emily,
What follows this rhyme?