you in your mother’s bathroom adjusting your hair as i wander, the house to tell you it’s time to drive to the station to take the bus to seattle, and wait for you to appear. both our phones die tonight but, by magus books we make the last bus and combine our quarters for the pay phone. nowadays when i text it feels like texting the dead a diary to the memory of you but every couple months like magic new words resurrect and appear you are alive o treasure upon treasures upon treasures…