Howl

The winds howl here, fierce and fearsome. The mind hunts for words that do not wish to be found. There is Zumba in the morning, Brenda dancing the ache out of our souls. There is my son sending a text: He has gotten a haircut; just the same, but shorter. There is Reiko in Brooklyn and me here, and our long, we-take-it-everywhere conversation by phone; when I punch the end key, I think (like I always think) about how much I love Reiko, how much her friendship means to me. She'll read a book you wrote, to choose a single example, and take the time to find the extra that's and the's.

I said that I wanted to write a poem.

I lived one instead.