I am blocked.
Stuck for those singing, stinging
Words I swing toward you
I’ve said every word
I know and made up some for extra laughs.
I got Nothing.
My teacher, Rosemerry, whispers
‘Look within for the muse, not without.’
I stare at the too blue December sky.
So blue it hurts.
I stand at banks of a dry sandriver
Bright white snow geese flow across.
frosting streamers melting into azure.
From 2000 feet the white bodies call down,
“Cold. Cold. Cold.”
“Tell me something new, Goose Clan,
Can you smell changes in the wind?”
“Snow. Snow. Snow!”
I scream at them,
Wonder if they were predicting or praying.
I can see all the way to Montana today.
Black roiling waves
I got nothing.