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
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.
lips sucked dry by winter night. above
rooftops, scattered stars, as far
away as friends. others, too, walk late,
calming restless legs
a movie has me sobbing, alone, as the rivers
flood their banks, the moon, both expected
and forgotten, at once. to realize the self:
impossible, and inevitable
ryokan kept his leg exposed when he slept
offering himself as food to the mosquitoes
i kill the ants in the kitchen without remorse
fondly remembering my grandfather