July 6, 2026

it’s seven o’clock
and i’m writing
and the wind is blowing
and my wrist has not yet started hurting [as much as it was yesterday]
and the birds are screaming
and the dog is observing
and the cat is nowhere to be seen

the tea is hot
the coffee is ice cold
and the water is the temperature of our old house’s old pipes
[so, in the summer, not quite as cool as we’d like]
[and in the winter far too cold]
but it’s a summer day
a summer morning
and the window is open
and the rain will be falling all day today
and i hope it feels like the planet is healing
so we, as a species, can maybe follow suit.

January 2, 2022

what is it about
early early morning in New York
that i love so much?

is it the quiet?

i wouldn’t be happy
elsewhere
where it’s
quieter,

but there is something about
expecting the cacophony
and getting the simplicity
the silence of the grandiose,
the liminal space
between the raucousness of nightlife
and the blaring consciousness of daytime

i am always one for the unexpected
i live to break rules
and realities

and that,
i think,
is why i love early early morning
in the city
that says it never sleeps
(but i’ve seen the empty streets.)