this morning, the weather is cooler,
and there is threat
of snow again in the midwest.

there are
heart-shaped messages
in my inbox that aren’t
really hearts, just
numerical symbols
that vaguely remind
of my struggles with multi-
variable calculus.

that was a long time ago. this
morning, the cat
won’t let me work.

he sits on my hip
as i type, scrutinizing
every last alphanumeric

there are
fast-moving clouds
of i-don’t know-what
kind; they make his tail
twitch and my eyes

i am thinking
about storms (about you),
about dancing (about me),
about how they ought
to make a good poem

a story of spirals and dervishes,
the solution
to some deceptively
simple equation
that explains the mysteries
of mathematics,
or metaphysics,
or something.

the cat
is a terrible spell-