Unless you feel pain
Brooding and cramped
Arthritic and damp
Swirling black leaves
Down empty streets.
These storms
Ask no reason
For abruptly
ending their season—
Usually
Beneath street lights
To make it dramatic,
Final
Cathartic.
And they go
As other Novembers past
Precipitous and sodden
Not fading
Into watery mist
But leaving
Without explanation
Or fight...
As so many others
Have done in my life.