Saturday, November 30, 2013

Marking Nov 13

This year, the only one numbered
Thirteen, I raked last leaves one cold
And windy day, and shoveled snow
The next with no delay excepting
But a single night between—a
Night already lit by Christmas
Lights put out by those who practice
Early rites.

This morning on the thin snow left
I saw a few late leaves I shall
Remember as marking this unique
November—and silently left
Prints of a cat’s paws. Thirteen now
Wanes. That number for us has a
Certain weight. But when it’s over
All—it’s fate.

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