Rituals

Sometimes when both of us have dinner

the silent wolf stops by to watch.

I hear the urgent knock on the window but

keep looking forward, keep laughing.

 

We talk about the constant rain and

listen to the tapping sound on the roof.

I offer you another glass.

A distant howl breaks in – metallic echo in the room.

 

The ocean drips and drips

cold over the plates, cold over the tablecloth.

I wipe everything clean.

The milk teeth are ready to crush new words.

Photograph: @John Stadnicki, MMXVII

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