elegy to a dead iphone 

i want to believe we will escape.
drive home on a cut in the earth.
all the water rolls off the back
of the mountain & through my head.
dear god the fishes have bullets now
& so do the birds. they say,
"defend the angels." i saw
your eyes spin like radio dials. we were
standing at a gas station looking
for a hole in the wall to climb into.
home was a lighter & a little incense cone.
praying to the umbilical cord
that it might tie us back into 
a swarm. instead, the beautiful hope machine
said, "we are going to have to walk 
back to the pie tin alone." i wept.
craved sugar drowned cherries. 
you held me & said, "we can wait."
i still don't know what you meant.
wait on god? wait on the sky?
wait on the road to lead us into 
a boneless place of rest & cauliflower? 
in the car we split a cosmic brownie.
i licked my fingers. the headlights 
were halos. one for each of us.
i said, "i just want to be 
in my bed." there was no bed to be had.
instead, we slept in the back seat.
you with your face against the window,
me a crumpled fruit snack wrapper
against your chest. for a moment
of levity i opened the moon roof.
glimpse of squinting stars. 
lights of the parking lot trying
to drown them out. you, promising me,
"we will." i filled that in "we will 
find our way back." but maybe you meant
"we will wake up to the sound
of sea gulls" or, even better, "we will
not need the ghost anymore. 
we will treat the road as the deer do,
like a dance with death."