Perhaps It Is November

In a field, crows pick at remains

of smashed pumpkins. Nothing will scare them.

Geese fly south. At sunset, fly north

again, never leaving. Winter isn’t winter anymore.

These days, none of trust our instincts.

Vincent van Gogh - Wheat Field with Crows

Vincent van Gogh – Wheat Field with Crows (1890)

 

Peasant Breasts

First time she was naked before me

was in my autumn book-filled dormitory room.

She said that she had “peasant breasts.”

I saw her ancestors.  I smelled patchouli.

I tasted spiced tea beside a warm hearth.

Sleeping Peasants, 1919, Pablo Picasso

Sleeping Peasants, 1919, Pablo Picasso via pablopicasso.org