windrag : poetry : journal

:: f : w : i : w ::

Category: poem


meeting his deadline, bach conducts from the organ. the rest is old news.


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.