November

Winter’s curtain descends.

The autumn lights brighten

Only in the sheen

Of wet leaves

Dropped beneath the gloom

Of dying stage lights.

We move slowly,

Uncertainly,

Waiting

For the brighter glory

Of spring foyers.

We cross bright summer

Corridors and move out

Onto streets

Subdued by cold rains,

Brightened by neon lit storefronts.

False suns.

False promises

Of goods to restore

Our sense of loss.

November, you are too cruel

To darken our days

To everlasting dusk.