This comes from some traumatic discussions on Twitter
I sometimes think I am my sisters' ghost
wings out of limbo undead since unborn
we jigsaw pieces out of half lives torn
the edges fit to join. I think I'm most
of a real person. If I tell the tale
over and over I will get it right.
And sometimes cry a small child in the night
must get the puzzle done. I will not fail
Lovers watch over me. Find bits of sky
fragments of carousel. Take them aside
and link them up. In gratitude I've cried
whole buckets. These solutions that we try
in every trial these are our best defense
optative mood and future perfect tense.