Come, November, remind us, if you will,
on a day like this, blue cold gathering
in the corners of our rooms, hard silent cold, while
we’re still dazzled by that high-flung July sun—
always, always—how it slips through our fingers,
open, grasping at snowflakes while wild orchids bloom.
(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Madereugeneandrew (CC BY-SA 3.0)
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