for
I need airplanes flying
inside and out of me
carrying next to me
seatbelts on tiny children
crying and panicking
and eating dried toast.
I need an anvil
to anchor itself to me
keeping me stuck
on the ground with the seaweed
and little white ghost trees
that die on the beach.
I need a booklet
of tear-away promises
that i can open
and close as i wish:
With post-its in pages
that are of great interest
not just to myself
but to whom i am with.