November hymnal (19)
After freezing rain, the slow burn continues.
Ice burns, air burns. Morning mist clarifies
Into a river’s moving lens.
Sliding faster than fire.
This will always be the month of my unbecoming.
November burnishes the mind’s naked bark
As the details drift down to a grass blade’s slow spark.
The recent past dead at your feet but covering
Everything. There is no forgetting
No remembering only
November containing everything
Changing past changed future.
And on the ground the hovering
Vulture’s static shadow.