"November"
Twilight hangs on me now, like a fidgety
child. It arrives wearing a purgatorial
coat in shades of orange, to rub and tear,
and peddle cumbrous fear.
Like eye of wolf in a madness wind,
it flanks my old, pale and weak self
in mist that breathes and gleams like ice,
reminding me of life's dark song.
In stillness, I await familiar lamps
of night, ushered in by a distinctive
silence, that will clear the mind of prowlers
and swill me down like fine warm wine.
Posted January 30, 1997
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