A little tribute to November. A bit melancholy for spring, though...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Colder Season
Watching November ripen
with each thrum thrumming
of river and heart
in sullen, sad-love-song, crystallized ways.
The sky can’t manage
to be cheerfully blue,
and, frankly, stopped trying weeks ago
when October dissolved.
Now with darkness being a mere formality,
you take time to trace out our names
in faded sequins and reconstituted
rhinestones.
When incantations become
merely talking to yourself,
wretchedness accumulates and shoulders
take on permanent shrugs of surrender.
Lastly, you sleep when spoken to.
So they take you somewhere
mint green, without
the benefit of petunias.
7 Nov 2005
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