Just push me with your littlest finger and
I’d shatter into bright splinters of white light.
George Sand stares at the pianola in ION shopping mall performing Chopin.
She traces the ghostly movements of the keys
remembering where his hands would…
I see green in the back of my throat
my insides keep turning, playing catch-up
with what I see and
where I want to be.
It only feels better when you close your eyes.