November hymnal (1)


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.

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