There is no resolution or solution when a ghost hops time zones You wrote, "I'm all alone, but the beauty of the afterlife is that everything is automatic, and nothing is problematic anymore." A glossy photo of a golden shore with angelic scrawl, in my head, your voice, a heavenly southern drawl Impossibilities were always your specialty, and I'm sorry I can't reply "You never said goodbye," There is no return address for loneliness, no messenger to throw a harpoon through, only a wind chime, maybe white noise, a smoke signal, to let me know it's from you The Thaw sadness serenades from the rooftops, slick, post-slush, kiss goodbye the winter sky footsteps fill with floods, and I pray you aren't swept away I smell daffodils already, sweet scented frills, man-planted landscape in this dry desert, the sage, tough with age, the rolling tumbleweed; I long for hills but I'm in the valley, in the weeping of a decade not enough to fill these reservoirs we've made this land a piece of ours, at least in where we've lived and tread, where we've rested our jaded heads sing softly for the thaw, the melting, the new moon season arriving, for thirsty shrubs that soon will be thriving Watching Rosemary's Baby at 6 AM 1. Mia sits like a china cup chipping away at French manicured nails Wild printed woman, 30 years her senior, speaks with a table shaking voice 2. it's serene here underwater, familiar scene wait, i'm the red clad lamb being led to slaughter time ticks, i reminisce, what did they give me? 3. polished & forgiven, too yellow morning awakening accusation lingers on the skin, marked & bitten tea bag evidence an open window invitation Bio: Jennifer Patino is an enrolled LCO Ojibwe poet residing in Las Vegas, Nevada. When she isn't writing through the throes of living with chronic illnesses she can be found obsessing over film, devouring a stack of half-read books, or jamming out to an eclectic array of music. She also will put corn on just about anything. She blogs at www.thistlethoughts.com.