November

A mist that fails to lift

The ground without horizon

Just a banana yellow strewn floor

and leaves falling

occasionally overtaken by condensed drips of daylight

The damping down of a day done

before it has begun,

cut through by light of the approaching night

Fly Girl

If you were a trout fly, I would tie you tight

I’m treble hooked in feathered flight

I love the way that water and your hair ignite

Exploding curls in ever expanding delight

Like ripples from a water kiss

Tempting rainbows from the abyss

 

Above, you are my kestrel kite

my shooting star at night

The sunlight on my skin

and  the warmth within

my love.