Yesterday I laughed myself out of a poem,
And today I simply lost one. I find it ironic

How the sunshine speaks with the sky so
Romantically, as if offering oil pastel crayons
Like a slightly more dignified child to that
Of his crush in the month of February.

And yet words do not warm, as we we learn
By winter's breath sharply caressing our faces.
I think he speaks to the homeless lady I heard
Coughing and singing a few odd weeks ago.

Yesterday I laughed myself out of a circle,
And today I'm simply lost in one. I find it ironic