November Wind


Corner collected leaves
bear in their crunch
my old griefs.

Clean wind from the south
Whirlpools them slowly
to a new settling.

Past patterns not forgotten
in this emerging
mosaic of color.

I walk seeing trees
as I am , stripped
of their summer greeness.


With some practice these
new ways, like branches
may bear me up.

Though my feelings resisting hang,
like the first leaves, not
yet ready to fall.

gf