There once was a ******* an old ship.
Blue skies and waves were her catnip.
Put wind in her sails.
She'll fill up the pails
And hope that the seals stop the drip-drip.

cool cats warm pizza
in-alley dining tonight
covid dinner out

Good evening, all!
Friendly reminder that--unless called upon--
we ask all spirits to remain on mute.
The connection can be a little spotty,
but we want to see all we can as the veil thins,
so please keep your third eye open
until it’s your time to commune.
Thank you again for attending this evening of digital divination.

Oh, and feel free to put your deepest, darkest questions in the chat box.
The moderator/medium will address them in turn.

blindly finding honey locusts
still blessedly bred with thorns.

climbing to new heights
just to keep a proper distance.

appreciating the red of a leaf
stuck low to damp cement
as higher winds chap your own chin red.

pressing a flower in the fold
of a note not sent
giving each another chance at purpose.

November never meant much to me before last year.
Shorter days, sure. Knit sweaters and a holiday or two.
But last November brought beginning to an end we didn't see coming.
A reminder that goodbyes are never guaranteed.
Last sentences aren’t always the final word on a relationship.
And holy moments exist in the darkest of places.

November never meant much to me before last year.
The night we knew you were leaving, I bought a holiday cactus
with small pink blooms from a misty shopside on my walk home.
Its blooms came back last week, brave in their abundance.
It’ll celebrate a year alive soon.
Your newest great-grand will celebrate seven months.

November never meant much to me before last year.
Each month since has brought joy
and loss and wonder that still feels shared.
The rains are coming back this week.
The mists returning and you, having never truly left,
give this November a chance to mean much and more again.