windrag : poetry : journal

:: f : w : i : w ::

good night

in the hour before my bedtime, when i’m looking back upon the day, depleted my housemate brings me a sweet, handmade by his mother with peanut butter and late-spring greens

goat cheese and sourdough toast

the cats are all aprowl tonight, at least the black ones, skittish and gutter-lean basking in car-heat, then dashing from tire to tire daring the moon to catch them