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On the Twenty-Third of November, Or, Ethereal Autumnal Magic. ... 07
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2007 All at once the moon has swung to the back of the house
and the noise of the day subsides in the frosted, sweeping wind,
What was there to see yesterday has turned and slipped through your fingers,
for nothing is ever stopped or in one place.
Ominously, the leaves careen and crunch, and you look,
but for your life not a soul can you see all around...
The clouds are swiftly riding past, silent and strong.
I’m not alone anymore but with what I cannot see
