windrag : poetry : journal

a better one than i would hear the insectswith voices quieter than trains, in town,at bedtime. nevertheless, the trainsongs givemy heart the kiss of sleep.

i apologize to myselffor all the moments i failed to livemy own life fully waiting for someoneelse to apologize.

note to self: songs thatmade me what i am–so fewof them are clever.

distracted. the treesin my neighborhood are deepin conversation.

i’ve counted the booksof poems in my house, and thespiders. good ratio.