windrag : poetry : journal

:: f : w : i : w ::

pause

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.”

tone poem

our parking strip, neglected, grows up wild,
every season shows a fresh new
face, diverse and course, ’til when it’s at
it’s lushest it’s razed to dirt.

the neighbors cultivate their little patch,
and season after season pluck
the weeds between the cared-for plants they planted.
year-round, a pleasant place.

and there you go, my love,
making the same mistakes.

reading inside

wave after wave of
spring rain. nothing that’s written
makes love easier.

meteorology

something holds the trees
as spring’s first storm sends them swaying.
feet at shoulder width.