alone in the garden
like every year
November rises
as it must
over leaves
and wind as
ice rain pours
like a vertical river
away from the world
of sun and green
I look out of the window
deceived flowers
sway in time
their colors change
and die
once so beautiful
now they slip
holes into their own
wavy white flags
out of body
the color is deep
wet and swollen
flowers tilt towards
the fog weaving
like a spider’s tongue
that slides
across veils of
anxious ice
emerging from
the night
evening drags down
like a black dress
strangled and buried
beneath the ground
a torn hem tears
at the earth
the moon listens