Before we descend into winter
purple twilights, numbing glare of snow
and ice, let us delight in November gold
embrace its small rains, dying leaves
wet and bright against black bark
its mists that shawl the mountains
let us mark remnants
of Monarchs that dare
the stark and final nectared hour
and farewell cries of geese
in V-formation silhouette
against the grey and glower
let us hold these days wholly
this season of cider and smoke
and know that nothing is final
yet, let us praise feasts
prepared by hands diligent and loving
crops gathered in
by hands rough and torn
firewood stacked and waiting
and while in every corseted garden
tasteful and blueprinted
April slumbers
oh, let us honor the wild, wild fields
where rampant runs the sorrel’s flame
punctuated by late marigolds
and weeds that do not even have a name.