WALK #111

Winter: trees begin to reveal their giant claws. Soon, they will rip the sky. I walk beneath and smother self-deprecation. Many humans might feel humbled by their grandeur, like when Romans built oversized granaries that made humans feel like ants. Instead, walking under the tentacles revealing themselves as they purge leaves, I laugh. The poet calls out, “I can be ruthless looking for fodder for my pen. I can’t afford to put you on a pedestal.” Within her zaffre-colored velvet cape, the fire beneath her cauldron never diminishes. This, too, is a poetics.

Wintry Winter

Trees claw skies--

the natural

order

of things when

winter appears

unapologetically