Along the tideline
The sand ***** bustle about
Making sandy spheres

On the wall sits a
Huntsman spider very still
Nothing to see here

Winter
is a monochrome beast,
with freezing paws, an icy purr
and bits of autumn stuck in his fur

Its leaves fold,curl in
Their grip yields to the cold wind
The elm knows their loss

Mycelium hair
frames her lovely face,
arms flung wide
in silent embrace,
fingers float
lilies uncurled,
peaceful she floats
slipped from the world

He asks me to buy him
cigarettes and drop them
off in the morning
before work,
so he can kiss me
before the day starts.

It’s November
And everything I feel within
Is what I see around,
The coalescing fog,
The turbidity of clouds,
Coldness enveloping itself again,
Before the trees; wilting leaves bow,
As I stand there, I feel understood,
It’s November,
Hence I am not alone
in the woods