November hymnal (1)
Now is the blowing song of leaf lidded
lips lifted to the sky in the color that
knows love leaves. Now is the open
your books to page reach for me in
your dreams eyes. Now is the parting
from the family tree. Now the figure
eights of indeterminate holding,
Now golden combs in the air, now
the squirrel sprinting beneath the
carriage of wheels at the hour
That disappears and returns to
The hour before. That brings sun
Down at the third cup of coffee.
Translations from the English 
Say that first line three times fast!
And I am happy to read this beauty.
I would not dare to try…
Intriguing mesh of images … especially like “disappears and returns to the hour before”
Thanks Jazz.
Yes, all of this!