Four Weeks in November

“Help me. I’m dead.”

Where now lies my soul?
Along the rain on this shore?
In the frost upon a white flower?
I belonged to a dead place
Where only I was born.

My friend is ashes.
He shall dream no more,
Where twilight never sleeps
And the people all are glass.
Kiss my tears; I have only leaves
Four weeks in November;
Four weeks to love you forever.

I want to close my eyes
I’m afraid to paint my world
After the November rain.
When is the next bride?
Who rests in the grave next to mine?
I’ll lay flowers where we sat
In the aurora at fading dawn.
My blood is cold, my breath is thine
Four weeks in November.

A single tear.
Is a single seed.
My hand plants for thee
Another day to say goodbye.
My heart will be stone then,
Aching to be still.

© 2018 Marten Hoyle