Jennifer, love is the most versatile land.
On the bridge, your fingers glow. A match,
ashy, a smudge. Why not a ghostly glow
in water over our bodies? Here. Stay.
Magic. We know that the way we live lies
under one umbrella—to the next bridge.

Cold, hard facts diving deep into
the doctor’s mouth.

There was no consensus—
I viewed the zebra.

Holding the oil was simple enough.

How much I am, I was.
I managed.

Dry desert dullness on my body.
Not to be mistaken: I can see my days.
Do you ever wonder what it would be like
to follow an earth-loving water, a return to
the star? Thyme and the whole family of
hours. Dull, tired youth wasn’t talked about.
Too often ignored. You’ll go back to being
free in no time—the result on the skin.

The notion of women makes perfect sense to us.
The trend: burial ceremonies, skin-tightening powers,
style without compromise. California dream, La-La Land
vibes, a sultry sky—quite a view. Deep injection in the

emotions, in an elegant former home. Jog a few laps
while you sleep. Ready for the long strands of carnival
streets, glitter and makeup, all-natural sexiness,

mellow touches of pineapple on skin? A metallic
cascade. Glitter makes it look brighter, a light veil of
lazy jewel-toned serum, the cavalry, my white flag.

Half the time, I’m like, “Damn,
the collabs will have to wait for now.”
No doubt, I’m good. Yeah. I love this
elevator to a world for my reality.
I was willing to share my beauty with
you. Fun fact: Fancy dinner parties are
glossy, refreshing. Invite people in
when you shine. Sign your lips, kiss
the last fingers of the ‘90s road.

The morning moves slowly and sunlight pours in.
Growing up in Chicago, the memories return.
Everyone knew her emptiness. Into her 20s, she
was just trying to survive for a lark, pumping gas.
She found herself searching for chicken soup,
its strength trickling in. This kind of work makes
her sane. Something’s not right in the church.
How do you word it? What do you do? You can
eat her life. The star grows—her eyes light up.

She giggles and stammers on cue
in this midsize Midwestern city.

Another battle in these two days:
a single epidemic that floats around.

She wears a black baseball cap.
She could be anyone normal.

She wanted to do something.
She hopped on the plane.

Here’s the scene: a Dollar Tree,
five churches, the motel room.

You get to narrate your own story in a whole new way:
If I wanted to fix my teeth, I would fix my teeth. We live in
the most beautiful light, women looking for harvested wood.

That’s the way of the future: thoughtfulness for nine years,
an actress sits on the edge of cobwebs, old smoke, oranges.

She is not on a Hollywood set.

A featherweight glow, the messiness of
runway looks that punch child predators.
This summer will be a Sprinter van, a new
ballroom, green hedges, a snack, a meal.

Even if you can’t spend an entire season
loving yourself, you may actually attempt
to feel really cool. You’re here because
you really want to do something after

the funeral. It’s okay to cry, to be a bit
reluctant about something deeper than
stallions. At parties, a strong woman can
love an off moment. It’s almost a shame.

This year is hard, I naively thought.
I couldn’t have predicted today’s forecast:
a softer season, a passionate life.

Summer-camp days. All your cabinmates
bloom, going straight from a sandy face
to the birth of the middle of the night.

How do you blur the boundaries?
What’s your path to a lot of hope?
Would you change the new future?

This fatal season will bring about new trees,
best friends, stars of time—I think we can be.