The springs of the trampoline
squeak to our movements, till we
fall dead on mesh.

I pulled off screen
to my window into undeveloped
darkness, and ran to you

after I heard you calling in my yard.
Home sounded like vents
and boom box hissing, and mother's

silent shoulder silhouetted
by some artificial glow.
I love you, shoulder,

and all the pages that I
put a finger to flip; under
the covers, covered in dark

where I adorn myself in cloths
to my coffin— too slow, then
come out wrinkled in the schoolyard

to get laughed at.
Here now, where I'm
sleeping in some friends

wardrobe, you called out
to me again, from a car
with tendrils of rain

streaking the glass,
but I didn't pull off any
screen. I didn't run anywhere
I just sat and sighed.