Hardened Season

my tomato plants are dead
each leaf a black reminder of cold ground
the vines have slackened their hold on the world
the fruit is rotten

winter is creeping into the air
the rain pouring in sheets
the crows sit on the wires across the alley
ruffle their feathers sending droplets to the street below

they call out to the gray clouds
now so close you could reach out and touch them
their raspy voices echo across the world
with glinting prizes in their beaks they fly furiously on

my cat at the window flicks his tail
making small clicking noises of annoyance at their tantalizing presence
he turns his golden eyes to me
and purrs his animal love to the wildness he remembers

I wrap my arms around myself
rest my forehead against the cool glass
watch the day darken
and wish passion was for something better than this

Block

these blank pages are confounding me;
they are surrounding me, hounding me.

staring at me in blankness,
mocking me with emptiness,
I search for words to mark up their clean whiteness;

blacken out the page with tightly packed letters,
scribbling ideas as fast as I can,

but this expanse of ruled lines stares back at me;
laughs out loud
at my attempts for literary revelation,
and compounds the ink in my hand.

I lay down my pen,
and wander off to find something to eat.