windrag : poetry : journal

friends whose birthdays i’ve forgotten seem to appear at perfect moments, to accept the gift of my embarrassment. warm dry night, hug them all for me

i’ve lost the urge to smoke, but then forgotten how to sleep at a decent hour long nights, undramatic, full of soup, slow and still and free

smokey the cat is faithfully warming my shins forgotten white bulbs are blooming in the yard with oxalis and grasses of winter. don’t ever take for granted the joys you’ve come to expect

my good friend learned (while traveling) that her aunt and confidante had passed. for af yesterday, fountains of rain tightened our shoulders today is cold and clear as a blade unprepared for my friend’s quick departure, i launder the linens humming softly to myself

for mm an old friend called me. he, too, noticed the first full moon of the new year, and wanted to tell me of everything he’s thankful for, old and new. no rain yet, despite predictions.