Two-part dream: I lost a friend & lost a mother

I have crispy bacon, french toast, coffee with cream running cold.
I want you to understand my origami
words, made from crinkled paper squares.
gently rustling I fold unfold refold
to try to re-explain my
self, reassuring your pale pale fingers
that are folding unfolding refolding
the cheap paper napkins: victims of a morning dream.

pictograph

i once saw a picture of an old worn-weather
couple with giant mason
jars, filled with lightning bolts they had
harvested.
we are like so many wrinkles radiating
next to smiling eyes - and then i
know, the moment you make
me laugh,
of the mason jars, filled with lightning bolts.