Two Poems

winter poem

snow covers all—
silent & soft like a
cat treading
on a ledge

autumn resting trees
hold court their
bark covered arms
thrust upward in
supplication—
& their thin fingers
reach to the sky
beseeching
the grey clouds

fat flakes rest on
the sidewalk &
whiten my shoulders:
an atmospheric
dandruff

the still sound of winter
surrounds me &
the cold, snow-filled
air burns my lungs
as i breath


nada es nada

poems do not write themselves
they are nothing but
blanks on a page
waiting to be written

poems are nothing
poets are nothing
nothing is nothing