This Week's Poem

November

Reluctantly a turquoise sky
tumbles gray into winter,
a courtyard fountain
surrenders its purpose,
hopes for tomorrow adopt
the ill-fitting clothing
and dusty manners
of previous frosts;

words slither uncomfortably
translucent,
as both my skin
and its translation
rise
vapor
from a frozen river
touched momentarily
by her sun.

But like a prayer
remembered,
still my mouth holds
unkissed
a long note
not to wake yet,
not yet, please,
not quite yet.


(previously published by Verdad)