november dry

birthing a fire
requires your own oxygen
given up out of lungs

the shadow-overcast, casting shadows
but within a coal, a flame, there may be none

i am still standing after wind has blown and
few leaves remain, dry, thin, brittle

the violin’s high, pure note was long ago

let me fly in a departing flock–
choreographed motion unison, dips and turns and banks and


will chills come again not of cold, of solitude,
but of wonder’s victory and victory’s wonder

trunks turn grey branches splinter surrounding airy substance,
cracks in the atmostphere

pines and the sky deserve reflecting

but how can i
my eyes have lost their flame

i suffocate in any air
but yours

but it’s all


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