Late November pushes against each branch and shadow
hustling along the clinging leaves and broken spider webs,
sweeping with a broad broom of chill and stinging wind
the last memories of autumn’s crisp intoxication.

Ah.  The fertile land exhales slowly, quieting itself
as if, injured, it seeks a healing and drowsy sleep.
I must go with it into darkness, for all my soul,
as autumn takes it’s leave and winter’s night draws near.

Portland, Oregon – November 26, 2017