poem

don’t forget that climate change still means snows - 

don’t let the heat get ya, you know the polar winds 

still know a thing or two and the snowings can still 

be fooling us all in pockets of places where aspens 

are still twirling leaves into the colors of no greens

of chlorophylls any more, as their time is up, for 

certain. 

look even at these clouds: they’re forming stuff not

formed when I was a kid, you know, the world is 

surely growing stranger the more we maneuver the

carbons all around the other atoms that are trying,

so much, to bring life and waters and regulations 

of these fevers of too much plenty, and too little of 

life-givings, where we are smoking up the very airs.

it’s all still beautiful as can be, yes? all the sturdy 

response-abilities of nature are singing the fall song. 

we could sing along, of gold dry leaves and crisply

crunching of snows under our summer shoes. just 

wait. Earth Mother knows what she’s doing. it’s us:

we are not sniffing wisely, this cold and freshening 

harbinger....