November

Bit of a meloncholy one tonight; inspired by a winter's day.

November Sky

We live in a rain-drenched land.

Soggy sodden slips of cloud slowly

rise above the wind and fight to find

that last man standing.

Underfoot and overhead; tupperware sky,

the lid ajar. A stripe of light unhindered by

the depth of slate that

boxes us in.

A vein of sheep like aphids on a fresh

green leaf follow the one in front down

to the icy lake. Falling into tangled weed
set seed in summer.

This sparse sick land made deep and mean by

the weight of lead on hunched-up backs. Crunch

through frost and we connect again through the

shivering stream of scars.

That always leave their mark.