windrag : poetry : journal

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.

i apologize to myself
for all the moments

i failed to live
my own life fully

waiting for someone
else to apologize.

note to self: songs that
made me what i am–so few
of them are clever.

distracted. the trees
in my neighborhood are deep
in conversation.

i’ve counted the books
of poems in my house, and the
spiders. good ratio.