“November Nova” by Ed Brickell

Not a discovery time,
This deep blank season -
Tired fields of gray and brown
In their collapsing days,
Light half done as it begins.
Grackles crack and snap,
Wild turkeys gone to ground
From searching death disguises.
Dew fakes each grassy footstep,
Trail of myself leading to
A lone burst among the buried,
Brilliant bruise in a skeleton bush -
Bees and butterflies crashing into
Meadow asters flaming purple,
Humping and pricking,
Hunger hum among silence,
Blaspheming nursery
In this rough hospice,
Bright spiral arm of promise
In a galaxy gone dim.

About the Poet:

Ed Brickell lives in Dallas, Texas and often writes about impermanence and renewal. His poems have most recently been shared or will be shared soon in Hiram Poetry Review, Susurrus, Bond Street Review, Last Leaves Magazine, Alternate Route, and others.