November song for A.

Morning light dispersed in fog shines from everywhere.
I woke up in the middle of a luminescent ball.
A am a foetus inside gloriously dying womb.
Frost on dry stalks makes strange creaking sounds.
Reminds me of squeaking stairs in my ancient house.
Ice floes on big paddle look like satin and lace.
Sleeking cold sheets on a decadent bed.
Today i am diffused in fading.
It is a genuine state of grace.
I’m a cherished foetus inside gloriously dying mom.
My thoughts swirl with dead leaves.
They fall down.
Make a wish.
They furl up.
Eventually they fall down.
Trees are almost naked now. They stand tall.
They stand for all.
I can calculate dew drops scatered the air,
simply by breathing in.
I can drink the air.
By gazing at pale sun’s face,
I can give an approximate value of eternity.
If you only allow me.