November Lines

Lines across the sky in black,
broken, mixed and folded back
on blue and grey in open space.
November’s chilling subtle grace
mimics lines upon my cheek,
where once the lines of tear drops peeked
out across a youngster’s blush,
today left wrinkled, stubble and such…

Seasons, age, the twain here met,
yet distant geese in lines so set
an expectation for the end,
journey exhausted, and so, my friend,
lays down to rest and so in finds,
winter’s role, aging time…
‘neath lines across November sky,
open, broken, holding sigh,
… time and why…