TWO POEMS

Dear Winter, Today the sky the samecolorless grey as rocksalt, truck-scattered overFulton Street. Trees leafless darkershades of bark. I walk. CrossDeKalb to the hospitalwhere people wait& wait. Lines to get shots. A blanknessfills the air bundledlike a quilt of longing& time. Fluffy dog on a leashin the crosswalkturns to me with her wet noseas if ponderingtoo or expectingsomething. Always mightbegin flurrying again. Dirty yellow taxiscircle by the glassemergency room door. I slip my mask downjust a few seconds to take a cold breath& exhalea streak of cloudshaped like a field I reach for & tryto holdopen palmed—like one would a Junebubble from a wand but I can’t,of course it dissipatesin an instant under the dead branchof what I thinkmay be a honey locust. Yours. Grandmom’s Round Moon Cookies Mun kichel: poppy seed cookie. Everything round. The rabbi says we are everythingturning. Peasant sweet the hands of my grandmombody swaddledin…