November

Harvest moon glows like a

Tipping canoe in a black sea

Bare, stretching tree fingers

Criss-cross its face --

Grey rivulets against the yellow silhouette 

The precarious vessel

Seems at rest

Not bobbing

Just subtly in time

Drifting further down in

The dark sky expanse

Of waters

Sinking deeper

A constant

Though sparse

Mingling of stars

Range as points of reference

As buoys and distant lighthouses

For the lonely canoe

And the wind cannot wreck it

Nor waves beat upon it

It sinks because it has

Been commanded to do so

And even now,

The slender ship dips into obscurity