windrag : poetry : journal

:: f : w : i : w ::

Category: poem


this is where we find ourselves: broken reeds gather at the high tide line.

as it flies

spring night, searching for the full moon… a meteor! then two! sweet failure!


the taste of spring rain is enough to remind me to keep it simple.


lungfuls of sweet jasmine… disaster, averted at every turn—how long? above a single moth-hum, the full moon: resplendent through the clouds.

gs & ag

they grasped their time. i do not grasp my time. i grasp the brush, and brush my teeth, and memorize the song we’ll sing tomorrow, “spring has just begun.”