Sometimes all you have
To write on is the receipt
Back for a pair
Of books you bought,
And lines of poetry
Shorten accordingly.

Sometimes, in the finale of
Winter, flaxen lawns,
Ashen trees beneath
Chimney smoke, and
Scoured sand are
All the colors seated
In your world, and you wonder
What’s the warmth you
Find in so small a palette.

Your grandma stored some
College textbooks
Decades ago, and
She presents these relics
Proudly, saved them
Just in case, but they
May be worth just pennies
Now, or only fuel for
Bonfires, especially
The ones that end in -ology.

Sometimes nothing
Is what you guess it, but it’s
Enough to be a stray snow
fractal on the day before spring.

– Shay Wills