November 12

comments 6

The top of the gingko
has lost its leaves,

with a windstorm
in the forecast.

In a sunbreak today
I walked around the lake

seeking solace
in the dockyards,

but found only
cruel sleek boats,

so capable of leaving
that they were no comfort.

These nights are gluttons,
and there’s little left to take—

I could count each yellow
leaf, fine as a petal, yet

strong enough to have
held the sun, once.

Anything could tame
it, now, feeble

at the horizon, its lack
of warmth, alarming,

but no choosy beggar, I
try to savor even the dregs.


  1. This is brutal and beautiful at the same time. Have you ever recorded yourself reading your poetry? I feel like this one would lend itself so well to being read aloud.


    • Thank you! And as for recording, I cringe when I hear myself when Skype acts up… a spoken word career seems unlikely :p


  2. The line about the leaf being strong enough to hold the sun is amazing. I enjoy getting to view everyday objects in a unexpected way.


    • Thanks! I got really into reading about how leaves function and what actually happens when they change colors and fall off– makes autumn seem all that more melancholy.

      Liked by 1 person

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