I am charmed by
the way we tell Ghost Stories,
break teacups like it's a wedding,
hummous and tabouleh and doughnuts,
greasy in the swing dancing canola,
dresses and rolled up jeans,
street signs in Ukrainian,
and the way
if you lie down on the boardwalk
you might see the crooked trees of Hafford
winding the sky like
before plants and animals, deciding what to be,
jackrabbit dodging,
outcast-thick hair,
tangled like tunnels in mimicry,
or dancing.
I am charmed by
that I can't tell
who here is in love and who is
just happy.
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