November

November hands me secrets
In every leaf I turn
veins intricately weaving
All that I once burned
The season’s deepest sorrows
that we often sew alone
Come back to haunt you no matter
in the rain or in the snow
But what can clear a conscience
better than streetlights in the fog
In between the arms and feet
of my gold November sun
It blinds my heart
and burns my tongue
The dampness of the breeze
and still when I close my eyes
I see your face among the trees

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