had a dream that I was playing the violin last night.
their scrolls were bobbing in the ice, the vapor was
freezing on the strings.
made me want to reach for my rosin,
but instead I felt your hand pulling me
out of my dream.
hear the static voices screaming, SHEILA!
cry out as the spirits jump on top of me,
causing me to fly much like her blossoms
that blew in our yard last night.
the flowers looked like paper mâché hearts,
the white and pink on them torn.
much like my far-gone heart, beaten and worn.
watched the wind make them scatter and I’m
wondering how I let myself even care that they mattered.