Electric Breezes

Inside the laptop is a quiet world
that soaks through my hands and fills me with birds. 
Here someone is whisper-screaming along
to every movie and song. Pennies seep down underwater
one after another in necklaced rows. And there is always a petaled hand
reached out to hold.

How You Are

I see someone on the subway,
or crouched onstage or dangling their feet
off a bridge, and they have skin that is nothing more
than skin and they are held on the tongue
of a perfect sky.

And I want to say,
tell me how you did that
but I know they don't even know what they did.