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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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don’t move

the beetle you’ll just

hurt him

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after the ice

the frogs are back

but from where?

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when I put

my hand on your hip

the dog licks it

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