once i was in phase two, a dream, with visions of tomorrow blurring my today. i had distractions that came by the dozens. like schools of fishes, i saw i creative writing students, the hairs on my vagina, pieces of tomorrow, again, a distant now, heart palpitations, second guessing and you in today. i saw the gums of candles that appeared like tiny glue caves above a fire burning on the leg of my tub, i saw you and you again. you never have a face—you come with a ball of warm wind built slowly into a jack and the beanstalk size fist and in it are auras—nice ones like blue jasmine and hibiscus they are spirits with smells that breathe on me then through me and when they enter they inhale the navy blue me. the me who i say i am that’s saturated in 'someone else can do it better' and 'i will not forgive.' and it exhales a purple lilac me who slows down and can see in the mirror when there isn't one around. who forgives herself first. a warm wind that cleanses, approaching to ask can it sit inside of me. but it only speaks by humming. and it comes as close as across the street. its voice reverberating over to my corner of the sidewalk as i wait to be told i can go.  

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