preemptive remembering

     
November's first week ends in an impossible palette    
layered in lavenders back-lit in pink    
with greens from the foreground    
pulled through a spaghetti strainer    
up passed the umbers and reds  
dangling like leaves  
blowing kisses to brown bark    
     
not yet noon, and tonight promises of a blue    
that the mystics chew on but cannot digest    
it is announcing its emergence in light rain    
     
everywhere is poetry and the pages lie empty    
     
there is no more needing to know now    
each cubed foot of atmosphere    
bleeds redeemed today