Mike Bove

Seasonal Variation

About November, I like best
the stacks of muted browns 

in a view of the forest
behind the pond, yellowed

scrub & leaf-layer seen
stiff mornings at sunrise. 

You asked if I could tell you
how to hold great sadness, 

but I barely know how 
to hold myself. Can we talk 

instead about the golds
by the pond & how much 

I love you? Look where
last night’s frost froze 

leftover reeds, caked them
silver & brindle-white, 

bright & temporal.
Take care with cold, 

it’s some of us, not all.
Inside our shimmer-chill 

& bite, before warmth
there sometimes is this ice.

Back to Issue XII…