Early Morning, Evanston, Witchcraft

I am practicing, again, the art of letting the first draft be imperfect, even sh*tty. I am practicing getting enough down so that when I go to revise, I can once again enter the space that made the poem. Without that practice, this draft would never have been written.

What do you love enough to do imperfectly?

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedI have been chosen for the vessel.Cat circles twice around my lap,brief touch and press of paw pads on my pale morning skin,settles with her chin resting on my arm,pausing for the moment the urge to scroll deeperinto today's fresh disasters.IN the stillness, the quiet opens into soundhum of passing carsbird song exclamation marksmy beloved's voice an incantationsounds that will not be made into wordsthe better to wash my body in the presence of this day.