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Nov 2
comes on shore, from heated airs,
over a far away ocean,
steals in with quiet hands,
no thunderous  clapping,
gently lifts, shakes, the
woman’s long tresses,
making them an
even bigger
tangled messes

the irises standing proud ‘n tall,
with their quiet applause, mm
at the unfolding playlet observing,
verdant spectacular every coloration,
the sky spinning clouds,
the lapping  waves keeping rhythm,
that everyone
hears differently,
and all the discordant
cacophonous agitations
blends harmoniously
and everybody smiles,
everyone grins,
all knowing that the
all~knowing just

sneezed
wrote this to remind myself that I
can still write a summer poem
even if it is November 2nd at
9:41 on a sunny, but chilling  morning
Written by
Nat Lipstadt  M/nyc
(M/nyc)   
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