when I talk to my friends I pretend I am standing on the wings   

of a flying plane. I cannot be trusted to tell them how I am.  

Or if I am falling to earth weighing less   

than a dozen roses. Sometimes I dream they have broken up   

with their lovers and are carrying food to my house.  

When I open the mailbox I hear their voices   

like the long upward-winding curve of a train whistle

passing through the tall grasses and ferns  

after the train has passed. I never get ahead of their shadows.   

I embrace them in front of moving cars. I keep them away   

from my miseries because to say I am miserable is to say I am like them. 

- How I am

  Jason Shinder