this november thanksgiving

slowly. it goes.

shame. joys. tears. sweat. and laughs. for you, diamond wings.

to god, and rust. and the canopy of fate. here is my prayer. my prayer of prayers. for strength, and shame. and the prickle of black. i give you thanks. this november thanksgiving. the whitewash and chalk stains are asleep on my walls.

to fingers of blood and allegiance of wombs, i give you thanks. wires emblazoned with the satin of scripts. your palm. where is your palm?

to vagaries of past. teach me your tunes. the failure has failed. and i am dry. but i give you thanks. this pastiche of fates sing serenades to the moon.

holding my hand. and folding my soul. the seams intact. there is a dizziness in the tunnel. the passage. the change. the garden of shadows. where we ran. hands tilted to the sky. sketching. like artists by the lake. shades of the raining bow, smeared across a tracing paper. wrapped around my fist. and tea stains from nine billion miles. sing soprano tonight. so beautiful, my love. i give you thanks. this november thanksgiving.