ant5

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you find

your secret friends

have grown old too

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the low hills

sheets of fog

pierced by chimney smoke

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the dogwood

turns out

it was truly my friend

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dusted with mustard

the tip

of the cat’s tail

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red thread

at the back of the drawer

here before us

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drinking straws

cast shadows

inside themselves

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the rut

filled with rain

hides the frog

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the dark before dawn

I thought my wife

was the cat

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wing mirror

each droplet

holds a headlight

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she says I don’t care

I spend the summer

in France

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