from "Its Plastic Light"
       

I make the travel plans. When two ghosts
cross each other, a sky is born. Two
skies try to exist together, one in the
background while the other takes the
credit. Or one underneath the other,
coiled like the furnace in a pretend
hideout, waiting until it can be something
else. The birds honking or in silent lines.
This sound steadfast as a face.

Copyright © 2009 Julia Story All rights reserved
from Post Moxie
Sarabande Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission