November

Rain-stained November. There should be white flowers on my table and my arms four and some light from far away flicker into my eyes and yours and the noise of the city- shifting lanes, brakes, honk!honk!, hurried shoes, rush homewards, all that outside- quieter than our breath, quieter than the trickle on the window pane of my one room house-drop, drop, drop, drop, drop.

There is November. And just some rain.