poem from our window

thick fog where you breathe
on the window pane.
you draw
a heart in the quick-fading white
because it seemed like
the right thing to do.

outside, the world is just
another specimen behind glass,
everything cataloged.
here is a sparrow
caught on the wind.
and here,
the gray you find
swarming in the city.

but it seemed new
when your cloud of breath disappeared
and we were part of it all.

.the.curtain.calls.

A laminated chore chart, waiting to snap in names like Lego bricks.
A Nalgene filled with root beer up to the "Made in USA".
Fingers still smelling faintly like bike grease.
Winter winds afraid of being forgotten.
I'll be done with this script tonight.