old poem

In preparation for a book length publication, I'm riffling through and revisiting old songs, old friends:



the cottage


The pens here have all dried out.

This season makes me sneeze.

This time it's really the weather.

***

I drew our lives on my leg this afternoon while you were swimming.

I was going to show you as you were toweling yourself off.

But something came up.

***

Later, my catalyst was this book.

It had your initials inside.

We didn't speak for hours.