November 24

Fall leafskip.

November air has wrapped up the

sky in a blue satin bow.

Orphaned in icy waters,

grey flannel stones stand murmuring guard

over salamanders and disgraced samurai bones.

Photons flare a crisp greeting and

are off to Vega,

humming a De Broglie tune.

The hills are dressed to the nines.

Millenial toughs,

they arch their hulking backs

and settle down to glower at each other.

A long-necked river bird,

stunted scion of a T-Rex,

silently wings by,

carrying the valley with it.

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November 23: In Gosho

Ambushed by the sun,

Liberace-hued leaves mournfully exploded.

The November air had

tied up the sky

with a cerulean knot.

Winter coughed and peered at us from

behind a naked cherry tree.

Its dusky robes

a trick of the light,

a crow abruptly carved the silence

into a million longing wounds.

November 16

I crossed the northern ridge

and fall fluttered into view.

You who feel that line:

I wonder what you

would have done later with

the rich silence that

gentled on the mountain

and the spider trembling

in her iridescent web.