windrag : poetry : journal

:: f : w : i : w ::


in the city, the moon is like a neighborhood
cat: you learn where it’s likely to appear–
it leaves you lonely for a couple of days, and then
jumps out from behind a house.


it is rare that a
person whose instinct is to
judge makes a new choice.

be that rare gift.


clear spring night: the train—
the sound that draws us to ask:
where are we going?

seeing through

a sledgehammer used where the
task calls for a toothbrush.

a fleeting flush of triumph
obliterates ten thousand opportunities.

we’ve seen it before, and we
never fail to grieve.

in grieving, we see through the
facile charm of the sledgehammer.

we become adept
with the toothbrush.

never forgetting, we
forgive and forgive.


a better one than i would hear the insects
with voices quieter than trains, in town,
at bedtime. nevertheless, the trainsongs give
my heart the kiss of sleep.