Notebook by the Bed

I fell in love with you because you take ants outside.

The first time you were deep in a crouch on the kitchen floor, 

long legs, long fingers, navigation of a scurrying rescue.

Alyssa saw some neo-Nazis downtown.

Astrea says we should all be meditating naked. 

I mislaid my sneaker in the river— 

Puddlesocked, single knot.

Did Wim Hof make breathing a talent? 

I tried to flip a lightswitch that was already off.

Sometimes you give me migraines.

Claire Levin