.
how careless of me
to lose it, November rain
.
first of November, pushing up the sky with the ribs of my umbrella
.
the way it enters
without knocking—
November sky
.
.
.
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.
how careless of me
to lose it, November rain
.
first of November, pushing up the sky with the ribs of my umbrella
.
the way it enters
without knocking—
November sky
.
.
.
Enjoyed these very much – especially the last one. There is something about November – that month “when yellow leaves or none or few do hang upon those boughs…”.
Mary
One of my favorite poems, Mary. Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang…there’s a haiku in there somewhere.
Dear Melissa,
You remind me how we are all connected — those ribs of the umbrella pushing against the sky — a good poet always helps me to be more human — thanks Mel. Hope you’re doing okay these last few leftover days of November. As always, a wonder of words as only you can string them.
–Peter
More human. Yes, that’s a good goal. I’m working on that. Some days I despair. Especially in November. But thankfully it’s over now…
Hope Mass. is treating you well, Peter.