windrag : poetry : journal

:: f : w : i : w ::

forgotten verse

well i wonder where you are tonight
and i listen hard to see
from where i lay, so high atop
the roots of this old tree
i send you kisses sweet, my dear
like vinegar and lye
and if you ever find me here,
susanna, don’t you cry

cloud being

cool, heavy spring mist
penetrates earth, leaves, bones, mind
no visible path

half-empty

more instruments in
one house than hands to play them:
lonesome museum

busy-ness

poems put off ’til night
often turn a cold shoulder,
shun all advances

uncertainty

perennial partner, whose inevitable face
grows ever less familiar with each embrace