I.
Behind bars he tends to the library
he's built within himself
of things he hopes to feel adequate at.
II.
I've dreamt of you for years:
you and shipping containers,
you and cranes.
There is not enough of you in one place.
Where are you colored spines facing outward?
It is not that you weren't given,
but you didn't hold fast to them.
I fix you a bowl of ice cream from your own freezer
and you emerge from bed.
I am hoping you don't see that the scoops spell out
I am mad
at you
for not wanting life enough.
Maybe you'll hear my voice instead,
hugging you from the side,
we could live together baby,
like real sisters again.
But the fences here are no good for walking.
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