My unsettled thoughts
seem to stir in November.
I wonder, do you have
a month that you dread?
A time or a season
when angels forsake you,
to gather in valleys,
with wings to be shed.
When hope turns to sand
sifting fast through your fingers,
cascading o'er beaches
where memories still play.
Where you walked to your future,
and followed your own path,
and left your own footprints
that waves swept away.
And I wonder today,
could you swim in that ocean,
on the blackest of nights
without any fear?
And the wind on my neck
coldly curls up to whisper
in the voice of a memory,
“November is here".
