this poem
is written under a gray sky,
looking out, poem-level,
at the power lines & december-naked
branches.
it has never smelled heather
in winter; it prickles
with gooseflesh but won’t
let you turn on the heat.
this poem
says: you must make
your own fire. it owes me
nothing. like you, it dreams
in cats.
this poem has no hands.
it sleeps naked. it likes
summer nights and
long walks under the stars.
this poem
is winter on paper,
a message in a bottle
washed upon a cold
Atlantic beach.
its breath steams,
champs, hisses &
waits for us, all, melting,
in the dark.
Joanna Suzanne Lee 
this poem
says: you must make
your own fire
Yep, you gotta make it happen
yep indeed. 🙂 feels like it’s been a while, Carl. thanks for stopping in.
Love love love to love you baby loved this. I like how the poem became so many things. Great imagery, esp it dreams in cats. Each stanza has a great unique idea to offer. This was gorgeous. Also liked the falling stars effect – fancy! Seriously good, young doctor.
Mosk, there you go making me blush again! thank you so much for your words, both here & those you share over at your place. 🙂
this poem
says: you must make
your own fire. it owes me
nothing. like you, it dreams
in cats…..has no hands….seriously from the verse above on…this really rocked….you wrote this similar to the cantalope poem…or at least a similar cadence…
thanks, brian. …but what is the cantaloupe poem??
this is unbelievable…I could feel my ribs while reading it..You are an amazing poet, Joanna, truly. Thank you
wow. you are way too kind. thank you. it’s been a while since i’ve read from you… heading over that way now. *smiles*
Love the poem sleeping naked 😉 it dreams in cats… Love this, Joanna.
thanks, ayala! doesn’t everybody dream in cats? 😉