November Song

Raking through the remains of mushrooms, their quiet cities dissolved of themselves,

By tine-stroke their gray-purple thoughts entering the atmosphere in clouds,

Scattering their soft lumps and particles, promoting their culture and furthering their aims,

I am the ghost of the day; see me through your window in the soft yellow light of late afternoon;

Tap on the glass and I will look your way — yes, like that — and as long as I can, I will stay.

November 8, 2019

November Song

Before she disappears
behind an icy wall,
November
gives me
one last smile.
I hurry out
to say farewell,
find empty shoes
and faded dress,
still warm.
She is gone,
but I hear her laughing.

Songs and Letters, November 30, 2006
Winter Poems, Cosmopsis Books, 2007

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