Facing November

By -
The clouds are giant gull's wings
swept back, rows of flight
all turned towards
the low sun,
hung with lace herself.

She wants you to believe
in the folklore of
naked skin
under the sky,

for your wishes 
to sustain her
under the veil;

feather-sweet as imaginary birds,
rolling need into the burn. 


C. LJ Ireton 2024

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