Cold Soup - Oct. 31, 2026

neither cloudy nor sunny,

both sharing the warm sky

like words scattered on paper,

there’s meaningless white

on an undecided blue

poetry is difficult sitting outside

in Octobers and Marches,

our seasons of magnificence

though hummingbirds still whiz by

and ravens loudly fly, it’s when

the clouds leave the sun alone

that I start to heat up

still with nothing to say

still dumb in the brilliant weather

I become a soup lacking spice

a soup even the most hungry

should let grow cold